No Need For Promises
by Shun-chan
Summary: Set from the end of the Goblet of Fire, Harry returns to the Dursleys only to discover that the depression settling on him after Cedric's death isn't all he'll have to deal with -- try a new roommate!! SLASH
1. Monogatari Ga Hajimemashou

"See you, Harry," said Ron, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek. "Harry --- thanks," George uttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side.  
  
Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursley's car. As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come.and he would have to meet it when it did.  
  
*That's right. I'll meet it, and I'll meet it alone this time.*  
  
Pain not in the least blurred by the lenses of his glasses flickered in his emerald gaze, was reflected back at him by the car window, but only for the merest of ephemeral moments as he forced himself to think of nothing save the scenery as Muggle London fell behind through the glass. It was then that the youth swore to keep his mind firmly in the present where it belonged, where it was sorely needed this summer, for it did not do to dwell on the past.  
  
** That was technically yesterday, when it was easy to make promises, easy not to feel pure panic and fright when daylight streamed innocently in through open windows with curtains billowing in the breeze, causing shadows in the daisy sunshine pooling on the walls and floor. Then the shadows lengthen, the light becomes fiery, a beautiful reminder of the artist's painting pleasing all who gaze into the west as it hangs in the sky. And then dusk fades into dark, starless, moonless. A travel-worn body calls for rest, and so Harry had succumbed.  
  
But with nightfall come those unspeakable terrors that every child fears.and these terrors had yet to relinquish their firm grasp on the soon- to-be fifteen year old Harry Potter.inescapable nightmares that loved to sneak up on him when he least needed them.  
  
A quick glance at the clock told Harry that it was 3:47AM, and Harry resignedly went back to counting sheep --- exactly what he'd been doing since 11:26PM. Sleep remained elusive, and in all honestly, Harry was quite grateful, as it was not an overly reassuring solution. Not when a pair of unseeing yet gentle blue-grey eyes and a face frozen forever in time in an expression of shock mocked him from within his mind whenever he closed his own eyes - green eyes that at the moment did not glitter like the precious jewels they once so resembled. Now dulled with pain and lack of sleep, no sparkling fire shone from their seemingly infinite depths.  
  
*It's my fault.*  
  
Voldemort's return seemed in all respects to be Harry's fault and his alone. Cedric's death, the deaths yet to come - Harry would have to take the blame, the Savior and the Crucifier.  
  
And he would fight alone.  
  
**  
  
'*Hurry!*'' was the thought foremost in his mind, yet his fingers would not obey, fumbling, trembling as he hastily grabbed the little he needed and shoved it as quickly as his weakened strength allowed him into his open trunk containing a jumble of belongings commonplace and oddly comforting to a fifteen year old pureblood wizard. Thanking whatever god protected his kind that the wards around his ancestral home thoroughly prevented the Ministry from detecting any underage wizardry on the vast grounds, as it would make his poorly planned, apt-to-go-wrong (as everything had since yesterday - was it really only yesterday? Not even) escape much easier, he threw the last book in this trunk grimly, having taken it out of there only hours ago, and straightened up, only to immediately regret it as searing pains burst through the recent raw wounds on his back.  
  
Biting his lip to keep from crying out, he sank to the level of the trunk's ornate keyhole -- silver inlaid with emeralds, dragons twisting round in a dance of power - drawing with him the lid of the trunk, and withdrew from the ragged robes framing his body an equally entrancing key of beauty, and in doing so locked away his lifeline before heaving himself to a standing position despite the pain that longed to lull him into dreamless unconsciousness - not that he thought he'd know the word "dreamless" after everything that had occurred.  
  
Hand shaking, he retrieved his wand from an ebony nightstand and performed a simple yet effective shrinking charm on the trunk, finishing by hiding the miniscule thing deep within a pocket of his tattered garments. Without a backward glance at the room he'd known all his proud life (though that backward glance would have left him not recognizing the room, now so different having been torn apart by its owner's frenzy), the silver-blonde padded swiftly toward the window and threw it open. Feeling slightly queasy, he assured himself that the second story wasn't much of a long fall; besides, he'd fallen farther off moving broomsticks in the past. He hesitantly put one foot on the ebony sill and ---------  
  
"DRACO!!!"  
  
Silver eyes flooded with fear as the sound of pounding footsteps reached his delicate ears, a sound that promised more pain than the drop from his window. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for contact with the ground. He felt a glimmer of triumph as he landed cat-like on the soft, wet ground, yet he staggered slightly before falling to his knees as he fought to stand. But he could linger no longer - forcing himself to his feet, he raced on foot to the sheltering forest on the grounds, knowing full well that once he reached the cover of the thick growth, he'd be able to use the portkey safely.  
  
Grimacing, he thought of the time his godfather had given him the portkey as a safety precaution - thought of how he'd used his perfect sneer with a proud, "I can assure you I won't be needing this." He only hoped the giver of the portkey wouldn't hold that against him, not now.Crouching among the many bushes and once again fumbling, he drew the opal bracelet off his wrist and pulled out his wand, which he raised.  
  
Behind him in a distant place he could not see through the undergrowth, Draco heard his ebony door burst magically open, as well as his father's scream of pure unadulterated rage at finding an empty room.  
  
Without thinking, the boy tapped the bracelet twice, and felt the familiar pull just behind his navel, felt his feet leave the ground, felt the world dissolve.  
  
** Severus Snape stood silhouetted impressively in front of his fireplace, casting huge grotesque shadows on the walls behind him. Absentmindedly his ran his fingers lightly over the angry Dark Mark on his left arm, and, unbidden, his thoughts returned to the night's events, everything that had occurred since the Mark had burned black for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament's fateful Last Task. He shuddered as he recalled the meeting, recalled those mad glittering rubies emanating malice and promising suffering - eyes that were very much alive.  
  
Oh, yes - Voldemort had been most surprised when Severus had apparated at the call of his "Master", facade complete with his heavy black cloak and iron mask. With a hurried excuse (*That must have been the first mistake*, he voiced to *himself, you never rush the Dark Lord*) claiming he had not been present to witness his Master's glorious rebirthing due to the simple fact that one cannot apparate or disapparate within the Hogwarts grounds, he recounted his first hand tale of the demise of Voldemort's "most devoted servant", Barty Crouch, and then went on to tell of the rift between Fudge and Dumbledore.  
  
Needless to say, Voldemort was pleased with neither Snape's story, nor his excuse. And although Snape was no stranger to the Cruciatus, it still did not leave one feeling at the top of the world. However, he wholeheartedly believed that he had been fortunate. Others had not been, and it was one of these that was foremost in his mind. And what's funny is the fact that when the object of his musings appeared as if on cue, sprawled on Snape's drawing room floor, he was not entirely taken by surprise.  
  
The pale head, whose hair was still flecked and matted with blood, slowly raised. Ice grey met coal black. *At least*, Draco thought, *at least something's gone right*. And that was the last thing he remembered.  
  
** He heard them first, those raised voices, but he didn't dare open his eyes or make a sound, lest his presence be noticed. Instead, he listened as the clamoring came nearer. Recognition of the voices dawned sharply on him, and he felt an icy fist grasp his heart; he felt his breathing hitch painfully. *They're here*.  
  
"Damn the brat! The Lord will have my head for his escape, but it's nothing to what I'll have from, as must I call him, my son! Mark my words, Severus, I *will* find him, and then he will pay dearly for my embarra---"  
  
"Really, Lucius, the boy has indeed been foolish, but after our Lord's reprimand, he surely couldn't have been able to have run too far. Are you quite sure you searched the Manor and its forest thoroughly?"  
  
"Severus, you *know* how I search - you know that there *isn't* a forest anymore! As for the Manor, the only creatures it cannot play its little tricks with are the house elves, and they learned long ago to be loyal only to me. He is not is the Manor. He is running, not hiding, but when he is back in my embrace, he will no longer run, my wand will see to that."  
  
Draco blanched; he knew his fath - no, *Lucius* was dead serious. He shrank under the blankets encompassing his slender body, knowing that they'd be no protection against Lucius' wrath. Scrunching his eyes tighter, he let the sound of the footsteps beating closer and closer fall over him, along with Lucius' continued harsh words. Listening, listening as the footsteps drew even, they passed, they faded.  
  
Draco was quite alone.  
  
**  
  
Time passed slowly, it seemed, so that it was an eternity later that returning footsteps and a whispered password left Draco feeling a slight draft as he heard a wall slowly grind open and slowly grind closed again. Then the voice of his keeper rang out clear as a bell, despite the fact that the man's voice was far from raised.  
  
"I know you're awake, no need to try and hide it." He continued in a softer voice that not many had heard before. "He's gone, Draco. And soon, too, will you be. Dumbledore has found a place for you to stay in the meantime, a place where not even Voldemort, let alone Lucius, will be able to touch you. You're in for a long summer, if I may say it myself, but there's nothing to be done about it while your safety is the top priority. Now roll over, *gently*, and let me check over your wounds."  
  
Stormy eyes fluttered open, glancing around the room quickly, making sure that Snape was telling the truth that no one else was present. There was no need, as his eyes darted with the speed a Snitch around the lab room, which was filled with potion ingredients and materials, and devoid of human souls save for his godfather, on whom his gaze now rested.  
  
"Why did he do it? Why did they laugh?" Draco's voice cracked, yet he furiously fought the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.  
  
"The Dark Lord does not take disappointment and dissention easily. To him and his Death Eaters, that was an evening of sport, of amusement. There was nothing I could have done, with or without having been put under the Cruciatus, for had I shown support, I would heighten Voldemort's suspicions of Albus Dumbledore's interference in Voldemort's circle. And because I did nothing, because of my cowardice, I will not be able to forget it, unlike the many times before." His voice hardened. "Enough. Roll over so I can examine your back."  
  
Draco shifted, wincing involuntarily at the pain the movement awarded him, pain that he had to admit had diminished, though, despite the now familiar throbbing, burning sensation. Snape's rough callused hands descended and began to move with the strange delicacy acquired after years of potion making, a delicacy that Draco was the only person to ever have felt. Bandages being changed, cool salves being applied, and tiny spells to keep all of Severus' work in place calmed Draco's fear and worry, and relaxed the lump in his throat.  
  
Minutes stretched on, and Draco fell into a quiet rhythm under Severus' ministrations. When at last the task was complete, the weary underage wizard heard his guardian and professor pull himself heavily to his feet and march to one of the numerous stone shelves lining the walls. There was the lightest, most delicate chink of glass on wood, a gentle glug as liquid was poured. Snape returned to his godson's side, placing a roughly hewn goblet on the table next to the bed.  
  
"Dreamless Sleep Potion. Drink it all Draco, you'll need your rest, especially when you arrive at Dumbledore's -" his voiced sneered, "safe little haven. I'll wake you shortly before we leave to give you time to change and to rearrange your belongings."  
  
With that, he left through the wall, black robes billowing in a non- existent breeze, without even bothering to make sure Draco had or would consume the potion. *Wherever I'm going, Severus doesn't like it. This doesn't bode well*.  
  
He sat up slowly so as not to damage Snape's careful work, and reached for the goblet, which he downed completely before collapsing against the pillows.  
  
**  
  
"BOY! UP! NOW!!" Ah, yes. The first words of the day.  
  
Harry groaned - he'd heard the Dursleys bumbling around half an hour ago, but he'd been too engrossed in his own depressing thoughts, haunted by those eyes, to care. He slid off his bed with as little grace as humanly possible and crossed to the wardrobe. Without glancing at his reflection in the wardrobe's mirror - he knew those purple rings under his eyes existed and did not need confirmation - he dressed in clothes five sizes too big for his rather wispy frame.  
  
In next to no time -- it wasn't worth the effort anymore to try to tame his hair -- he slouched out of his room, down the staircase (jumping the bottom step to avoid the creaking noise that would surely anger the Dursleys), and set out in search of the voice that had called him from his very comfortable cocoon of misery. No one voiced acknowledgement of his presence when Harry entered the kitchen, but his aunt's bony finger was pointed in the direction of the stove and a smoking pot. All eyes were fixed on the TV, staring in fascination, almost without blinking, at some talk show. Harry himself stared in disgust at the oatmeal bubbling glutinously away in the pot, stirring carefully with a seeming grace gained after four years of Potions, no matter how fiercely he maintained that he'd learned nothing from Snape.  
  
Breakfast was a quick-and-quiet affair.at least, Harry's was, with the smallest portion. Dudley seemed to have realized that the slower you ate, the fuller you felt as an end result, and so was actually dividing his time between the TV and his oatmeal rather than multi-tasking. However, while free time meant more TV for Dudley, on Harry's part, it meant more work the Dursleys didn't have to do. And so, his summer began, another two months of manual labor, snide comments, and the occasional, yet mercifully rare these days, imprisonment in the cupboard under the stairs. *At least that's all I'll have to contend with - to contend with alone*.  
  
That was, he dealt with it quite alone until 1:13PM that afternoon.  
  
**  
  
*Ow..Ow..Ow..*Every scrub of the carpet left Harry's arm seizing up in pain. *No, the damn machine isn't good enough for them, no, I just have to do this by bloody hand.* His thoughts continued savagely in this vein as he listened to the gentle clink of silverware on china as the Dursley's finished up their lunch of Campbell's 98% Fat Free Chicken Noodle soup with a serving of tofu. The Diet was still in effect, as Dudley's habit of sneaking food at school totally reversed last summer's effects, and no amount of whining or violent temper tantrums had weakened Aunt Petunia's resolve to prove to the Smeltings school nurse that one "never goes up against a Dursley".  
  
Uncle Vernon had just put down his spoon, letting out a sigh that said clearly that he was NOT satisfied and content, thank you very much, quite the contrary. However, he reluctantly pulled himself to his feet and said, "Well, Petunia, Dudders, I'll be in my office finishing up that repo-"  
  
Just then, the doorbell cut Dursley Senior off.  
  
Harry glanced up, rather perplexed. He hadn't heard a car or anything, not even the crunch of footsteps on the gravel. A sense of utter foreboding fell on him - the only thing that could appear so suddenly was -  
  
"Well, don't just sit there, boy, get the door!" Uncle Vernon barked into the living room at Harry.  
  
Sighing resignedly, thinking *Oh, well, Voldemort would have caught me sometime - but all he had to do was catch me cleaning?* he slouched to the door and threw it open.  
  
"One word, Potter," Snape hissed almost inaudibly, so only Harry could hear him, "one word and I assure you I will gladly make Potions next year such hell that you'll save me the trouble and throw yourself into your own boiling cauldron."  
  
Harry closed the jaw that had dropped open at Snape's appearance with a snap, but his eyes remained wide in shock.  
  
"Good," Snape murmured, and then continued in a raised voice that carried with it a slightly cultured accent which only Hary could see through. "Ah, yes, is Mr. Vernon Dursley in?"  
  
Mr. Dursley came bustling over to the door with surprisingly agility for one so beefy. "Hello, hello!!" he said, faking pleasant joviality very poorly, nowhere near as convincing as Snape, who now spoke.  
  
"Mr. Dursley, I presume? Thanks heaven we found this address without getter lost - you give very good directions. Well, we've got the boy for you, all ready to spend the summer in your excellent house and company - oh, he's so very excited, babbling the entire car ride here on how pleased he was to make your acquaintance."  
  
Harry could have sworn he heard an ill-disguised cough from somewhere behind his Potions master.  
  
Vernon spoke this time, the smile having become rather fixed on his over- sized face.  
  
"Boy? What *boy* do you speak of?"  
  
"Don't you remember, my good sir? The summer-time student you agreed to take in?"  
  
"I recall no such thing!" spat Uncle Vernon, half indignantly, half panicked. Snape's face fell, and he began chewing on his bottom lip rather uncharacteristically. Harry quickly looked at the ground - he'd never seen his hated teacher show any sort of vulnerability or concern, and Harry strongly suspected that he himself would burst out laughing, only to risk the considerably wrath of Uncle Vernon and Snape's promised vindictiveness. Snape, meanwhile, had turned to the hidden shadow behind him and said, "Well, my boy, looks like you're out of luck. Perhaps the neighbors would consider taking you and the money."  
  
If Vernon Dursley had been born a dog, you would have seen his ears prick forward as if he'd heard his master's call.  
  
"Money?" Snape wheeled around.  
  
"Yes, of course, sir, the money given in our gratitude for your taking care of the boy!! Some 1000 pounds for the two months, more if he enjoys his stay -"  
  
"Oh, THAT boy!! Yes, yes, I remember now, how silly of me, filled out that form weeks ago, how could I have forgotten that today was the day!!"  
  
Snape's facade slipped, an amused smirk gracing his thin lips. "Excellent."  
  
Aunt Petunia and Dudley had stuck their heads around the dining room wall in order to eavesdrop better. They then flickered little glances at each other that clearly said, *What boy?*  
  
From within his black Muggle jacket, Snape now withdrew a thick manila envelope that clearly contained 1000 pounds in cash. With a flourish reminiscent of Lockhart, he handed it to the practically salivating Vernon. Lastly, he turned to the mysterious 'boy' behind him and chimed, "Well, come, dear boy, and meet your new family!! New experiences await you!"  
  
Out of the shadow, a slender form stepped; pale eyed, haired, and toned, he stood and smiled serenely at all around him.  
  
*What the ---!!* Harry's stomach plummeted, as did his jaw. *Smiling serenely is NOT how one is supposed to describe Malfoy.* 


	2. Geemu Ga Tsuzuiteiru

Hey! Wondering why I didn't write a disclaimer last time? Well, that's because it's in my bio, gomen ne!! However, I do need to add a WARNING!! This will eventually get slashy, yaoi, m/m, whatever you want to call it. Nothing bad right now, nor will there ever be, for while I dearly love my Fake manga, I do not intend to be that bold.  
  
  
  
Draco had to exercise unbelievable amounts of self discipline to keep that smirk inwards as he let his eyes take in Potter's obvious disbelief. If Draco hadn't known that his fate rested in this Muggle family's hands - yes, indeed, even Potter's hands - his archrival's reaction to the idea that they were about to begin two months living in too close contact would have left the Slytherin wheezing on the floor, despite the fact that Draco himself felt in complete agreement with the horror Potter must have been feeling. Instead, steeling himself for the apocalypse sure to occur when a Malfoy met a Muggle, Draco stepped forward to take Mr. Dursley's pudgy hand, the smile never leaving his face.  
  
"May I introduce myself? Draco Malfoy, aged fifteen years. Pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Dursley."  
  
Draco was sorely begging to add, *You're the first Muggle I've spoken to in my life, touched in my life.oh, Muggle slime, SLIME!!!*, but he was aiming for charming here. Not to mention that naturally the Dursley's weren't to be let in on Draco's true lineage - the problem mainly existed in convincing Potter to play along.  
  
Despite all these unspoken thoughts flitting through Draco's mind, Uncle Vernon was clearly impressed by the blonde's obviously exemplary upbringing, something about the boy that sang of years surrounded by only the best of society, but the impression was cut back by.other matters at hand. He shook his live-in student's hand, but that live-in student could tell that the man wasn't really into the formality - he would much rather have been using that hand to count the money clutched tight in his other fist.  
  
Well, what was an ignored Slytherin to do? Annoyed at Vernon's lack of interest, Draco settled on another course of action, one that was quite natural to him: Piss the Muggle off. He let his gaze fall on the very alarmed Harry.  
  
"And.is this your son? My new brother.."  
  
Both Harry and Mr. Dursley turned nasty shades of red to rival the Weasley family's famous blush, deep scowls appearing on their faces. Even Snape nudged Draco hard in the ribs for not biting back the comment. Mr. Dursley sputtered a few moments before spitting, "No, he's my orphaned nephew, who works for his board here, and so he'll be glad to do anything for you, Mr. Malfoy, won't you, boy?" This last bit was growled at Harry - a Harry who looked ready to hex the next person who said anything about him being Malfoy's footstool, underage wizard or not. Vernon continued, oblivious.  
  
"As a matter of fact, the boy will bring your belongings up to the very spacious guestroom just waiting for you, my dear Mr. Malfoy, right away."  
  
"Well, that settles it! I'll just wrap this up with you, Vernon, and the boys can go to the spare room," Snape said happily in voice that didn't suit him.  
  
Draco, sidestepping, pointed out to Harry his now enlarged trunk sitting in the middle of the walk. Not daring to look Potter in the face and risk laughing, risk ruining the whole plan, Draco pushed past Potter and stepped into his first Muggle home.  
  
Slowly, he wandered into what reminded him of a parlor, but.it wasn't elegant and breathtaking like any of the ones at the Manor into which his mother always showed guests. Unmoving pictures of a boy who looked nearly as big as that oaf gamekeeper covered the walls and the unimpressive mantle of the pitifully boarded-up fireplace. He felt a look of utter disgust creeping up on his face - no wonder Potter hadn't any proper wizarding pride; and if this was how Potter lived, Draco's opinion of the Weasleys' shared one room just fell a few notches further.  
  
Feeling eyes on the back of his head, he whipped around to see two people staring at him: one was obviously Potter's aunt, blonde and giraffe-necked; and the other was quite plainly that big.thing.from the photographs. *Is it humanly possible for a Muggle to get that big?* Forcing himself to smile rather than sneer was almost as hard a task as smiling at Potter and his uncle had been, but Draco managed to painstakingly relax muscles and make it believable.  
  
Luckily, heavy thuds and scrapings behind him told the Slytherin that his beautiful, precious, heirloom trunks was being dragged unceremoniously into the house, and he had no reason to smile anymore. Silver eyes flashing, he turned to berate Potter for being his usual careless self, but Potter was already heaving the trunk up the stairs with alarming thuds, fast disappearing as he pulled with amazing strength for one of the tinier now- fifth-year boys. An imperceptible nod from Snape, who was discussing Draco's welfare in undertones with Uncle Vernon, told Draco to follow the Gryffindor. Draco returned the nod, a sign of agreement and farewell. This may seem harsh, but despite the bond between the teacher and his favorite student, that nod was all they needed - the most affection they'd ever needed, had been taught to need.  
  
Draco gracefully mounted the stairs, not sweeping, gorgeous stone spirals like those of the Manor. Easily following the thunks of his trunk as he reached the landing, he found himself in the open doorway of a plain room in time to witness Potter carelessly drop the end of his enemy's trunk on the floor, before Harry rounded on his 'new brother'.  
  
"What the *hell* are you doing here??!!" he hissed through gritted teeth. Draco briefly wondered why no one had realized before second year that the last Potter could talk to snakes, as his voice took on a serpentine quality when angered. Amused, Draco let the natural smirk show at last. For some reason, the sight of the silver-eyed boy's quirked lips had a calming effect on Harry - as if Draco's open display of lack of hostility toward the Muggles was leaving Harry wanting to scream, *"Who are you and what have you done with Malfoy??"*  
  
Draco instead whispered, "Dear, dear, Potter, that mouth of yours is going to get both of us into serious trouble this summer, I fear. Your ears aren't much better, obviously. I do recall you having opened the door, surely you heard what Professor Snape said? I'm a live-in student for the next two months." Draco's eyes narrowed, giving Potter a withering look. "So get used to it. Now leave, I have to unpack."  
  
Judging by Harry's expression, he was fuming. Draco could practically see the steam pouring out of Harry's ears, as if the raven-haired teenager had just been force-fed a huge mouthful of Madam Pomfrey Pepper-up Potion. And those dark circles under Potter's eyes, slightly magnified by his glasses, didn't do him any favors. For a moment, Draco actually entertained the question of just why Potter had those rings, but when he opened his mouth to voice the opinion that Harry really looked the part of a servant, he was interrupted by a shout up the stairs -  
  
"BOY!! The carpet isn't finished!!"  
  
With a glare of snakelike venom emanating from his emerald orbs, Harry stalked past Draco and out the door. At the threshold, he paused, turned, and said, "Stay out of my way, *Malfoy*."  
  
**  
  
As Harry's retreating footsteps faded away, enhanced by a loud creak as he hit the bottom step, Draco sighed, quietly shutting the door and applying himself to examining his trunk, only to be relieved that no scrape marks or dents existed. He pulled the chain on which dangled the trunk's key out from under his sweater, and bent down, stiffly, to unlock his only linked to civilized life. On top now lay his Nimbus 2001, still shining with the polish he had carefully applied a few days before school ended. A few days before his life had come crashing down on him. A few days before he was stuck in a Muggle home with no one but a Mudblood lover for company. Resisting the overwhelming memories of the night he'd returned from Hogwarts, just last night, he picked up the broomstick and let it go. It floated gently in midair, ready for him to mount it. Draco had to admit, he was lucky - imagine if *he'd* hurt Draco so badly that he would never be able to play Quidditch again, never have another chance to ruin Potter's nearly perfect record.  
  
Scowling at the thought of his enemies, both Dark Lords and Mudblood lovers alike, the Slytherin grabbed the Nimbus and laid it carefully on the bed before pulling out the armfuls of robes and assorted clothes, placing them in the drawers of the bureau, all green, black, and silver, the traditional Malfoy colors. Next came schools books, which would look quite out of place should one of the Dursleys invade his private spaces; thus, these too were shoved in drawers. When the last book had disappeared from within the massive trunk, Draco lovingly rested his Nimbus 2001 on top of his cauldron and lunascope before closing the lid at last and turning the lock.  
  
Slipping the chain back under his sweater, he himself slipped out the door and down to the main room, as his stomach was begging for whatever meager meal these Muggles could provide. Meandering into the living room, or parlor, as he thought of it, Draco didn't notice the leg sticking out from behind an armchair until it sent him sprawling ungainly to the floor. Pushing himself up from the still damp carpet and rubbing his smarting nose, Draco's eyes located the culprit, one still scrubbing the floor by hand and snickering to himself.  
  
"Toldja to stay out of my way, Malfoy, especially when I'm cleaning, cooking, repairing the house, taking care of the lawn, washing clothes.oh, wait, that's all I ever do, isn't it? In that case, it means that you stay away *all the time*. Obviously, I don't need a bludger to break your stuck- up nose."  
  
*So Potter wants to play dirty*. Two can do this. A noise from within the dining room startled Draco - someone reading a newspaper. Game. Match. Set. "You say you cook, Potter." he whispered. Harry looked up, disbelieving and ready to kill, not only Malfoy, but himself for his slip. Draco put on a whiny tone he'd learned from Pansy Parkinson, and in a raised voice said, "Oh, am I ever so hungry! All that traveling, you know." A high-pitched shriek rent the house. "Boy, make him lunch!! And don't you dare let it burn!"  
  
Draco sniggered into his hand - manipulator was his middle name. Harry refused to look at Draco as he quickly stood up, abandoning his rag and bucket, and stomped into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia came into the living room as the last wisp of the Gryffindor's flyaway hair disappeared around the wall. *Might as well wait.* Draco lowered himself gingerly into the very armchair which Harry had been hiding behind (as Draco convinced himself - childish was a synonym for anyone who spent time with the Weasel) while Aunt Petunia smiled her usual misty smile at him and began to engage her guest and now second son in conversation.  
  
"Such a handsome young man! Where do you go to school? You must have attended an excellent school to have produced such a cultured gentleman!"  
  
A buzzing filled Draco's ears. *Bloody hell!!* Snape hadn't told him what to do in the event this happened!! The plan to get Draco to safety had been so rushed.and besides, these people were Muggles!! They were supposed to be thick!! Thinking quickly, he replied, "France.I go to school in France." A loud snort came from the general direction of the kitchen, but the silence after it was covered up by the banging of various cooking utensils.  
  
The woman in front of Draco didn't seem to have noticed her nephew's sarcasm, but rather was quite pleased with her guest's background. She began to gossip happily about all the wonderful places she'd traveled to in France - Paris, Chatres, the Loire Valley..Draco tuned her out completely, instead waiting for Potter to call out that lunch was ready. The blonde boy hadn't ingested anything since the Dreamless Sleep Potion around five thirty that morning - Snape, well versed in the art of Potions, knew that should Draco consume anything too soon, it would have disastrous effects on the numerous other healing spells on Draco, making him even weaker than he already was. And once again, Draco's thoughts returned to just *why* he was weak, in pain, in his nemesis' house.  
  
"It's ready."  
  
Harry's voice, trembling with ill-suppressed anger, rang out and snapped Draco from his disturbing reverie. Potter was glowering from the dining room, holding a tray bearing a stack of grilled cheese and ham sandwiches. Draco could smell the still sizzling butter, the melting cheese.so this was a meal for Muggles?  
  
Harry set the tray on the table and stalked away, returning to the kitchen, most likely to clean. Aunt Petunia (*Horse-face*, as Draco thought of her) shooed her guest into the dining room, where he got a view of Harry's backside as he stood at the sink scouring the griddle. At the kitchen table sat the Whale, shoving handfuls of carrot sticks into his mouth with practiced precision as he kept his eyes glued on a box from which noise was coming. *Wait.black thing.noise.black thing, noise.is that a.a.television?* He'd only seen them in books, but he feigned disinterest. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.  
  
The scent of his lunch (or breakfast) diverted Draco's attention, and so he concentrated on the sandwiches. Picking one up, Draco had to marvel at Harry's ability - it didn't smush in his hands, but it didn't feel crunchy, nor were there any scorch marks. He raised it slowly to his mouth and bit in, savoring the way the cheese just oozed into his mouth..  
  
So Potter could cook as well as a house-elf. Ammunition and blackmail were always good.  
  
**  
  
He told himself that it was those big red numbers that were keeping him awake. He assumed it was a clock, but it made no ticking noise to lull him to sleep(nor to drown out the thunderous snores coming from the Land- Whale's room), had no hands moving around in rhythm. Just big red glowing numbers, currently reading 1:04 with a dot next to the light saying 'AM'.  
  
Was it really only twenty four hours ago? Those hands, those eyes, that curse..And that whimpering!!! If Potter didn't shut up and stop that creaking noise, he'd find himself on the wrong end of Draco's wand *very* soon! But then.*What the--? Whimpering?*  
  
Curious, Draco slid out of bed and out into the hall, feeling his way in the dark to Potter's door. Although he hadn't been in there yet, he knew which one it was, even in the gloom, it being the one with all the locks on it and a cat flap on the bottom. Cautiously, he pushed the door open, and inhaled sharply at the scene which greeted his eyes.  
  
Harry was doing far more than whimpering, rather thrashing around in his cot, covers thrown off as he twisted and writhed in obvious pain, hands clutching his head and face. Draco had heard of Potter's freak convulsions, but he'd never seen them, nor knew what caused them. Without thinking, the Slytherin crossed to Harry's bed as quickly as he could without making too much shuffling noise that might alert the Dursleys, though how they could be sleeping through this Draco had no idea. However, once he reached Potter's side, Draco found himself at a complete loss of what to do, and his panic only doubled when he saw exactly why Harry was whimpering - the blood flowed down his chin in a steady stream from the point at which Harry's teeth were digging into his lip.  
  
*Damn!! How do you solve a problem like a berserk Boy-Who-Won't-Frickin'- Die?!*  
  
His hesitation cost him, as said Boy twisted himself right out of bed and onto the floor with a smack that was sure to have woken the Dursleys. Swallowing a groan, Draco knelt down, intent on waking Potter up - but then again, didn't they always say never to wake a sleepwalker? Well, upon hurried reflection, Harry wasn't exactly in any position to be walking. Draco leaned over his archrival and grasped his hands, trying to wrench them from Harry's abused face. Naturally, Harry's instinct revved in - he was being attacked, and his body's reaction became painfully clear to Draco when one of the Gryffindor's legs connected with Draco's still wounded back. Harry's 'attacker' drew back sharply, and with him came one of Harry's hands, revealing why Harry had been clutching his head.  
  
The infamous scar was pulsing there, an angry, throbbing red. *So that's what curse scars do.* Draco stared almost pityingly at Potter. *And the Daily Prophet said that it was just a plea for attention*, he thought, his gaze never wavering from Harry's face.  
  
For some reason, Draco hadn't released Harry's hand, yet this fact had not yet dawned on either boy consciously. Had Draco realized, he would have felt repulsion, for in his utter loss of action, he caressed the work-worn hand exactly the way his mother had done to Draco's hand in his youth when he'd had a nightmare. That always calmed the youngest of the Malfoy clan down, and it had the same effect on Potter. The convulsions slowed, becoming less aggressive, the whimpering quieted; the bleary eyes opened, and emerald connected with silver, recognition flashing only slowly. Silver lost the battle, and lowered its gaze, withdrawing the hand. Emerald too looked away, and Harry's pained voice broke the silence.  
  
"They're looking for you."  
  
**  
  
Draco had not left Harry's room, rather spending the night wide awake lying on the floor under a thin blanket stolen from Harry's bed, as well as a pillow. Neither had spoken since Harry's vision and his announcement, despite the fact that they both knew the other was awake. Draco kept repeating Harry's words in his mind, fighting to keep that mass in his stomach where it belonged. No matter how safe Dumbledore thought that this Muggle home was, he could not have reckoned with Voldemort's power, power Draco had experienced for himself. And if they were looking for him, nothing would deter He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - it would only be a matter of time before he came knocking politely on the Dursley's door. Lucius' words drifted out of time back to him.how they'd punish Draco.  
  
Harry called him back to reality, whispering in a hoarse voice.  
  
"I'm cold. Either give me back my blanket or get up and shut the window."  
  
"I'm sleeping on a wood floor. Either get me a decent bed or shut your mouth."  
  
"There's a bed in your room, Malfoy, go use it."  
  
"No way in hell am I spending the night alone - if the Dark Lord finds me, I'm making sure he takes you along for the ride."  
  
"I don't think you have to fret about that." Harry paused, feeling hesitant. Dare he ask Malfoy? Well, Harry usually left everything to impulse, so why not this? And so, he voiced the knottiest question.  
  
"Why are they looking for you anyway?"  
  
Draco let out a derisive laugh before replying, "Think I'd give you the pleasure of knowing? It would only make your head swell with more hope than can be afforded to be sucked out of the wizarding world now. Hope for the side of the Light, for which, I must say, there isn't any."  
  
"You're forgetting Dumbledore," Harry reminded him sulkily. Draco tore into a furious tirade at this.  
  
"You actually think - *you* of all people - think that Dumbledore is invincible? Potter, we've been at Hogwarts four years now, and every year Voldemort has managed to deceive even the best! Must I really remind you?" Without waiting for Harry's "yes, by all means, go on", Draco continued. "In our first year, Voldemort had the audacity to be living in the bloody castle! So you managed to save the Philosopher's Stone, lucky chance. Next year, the Weaslette falls under a trance via Voldemort's bewitched diary-"  
  
"Thanks to your father," Harry interjected.  
  
"-and starts attacking Mudbloods. So you killed the basilisk, got lucky again. Third year, you've got a mass murdered on your ass, but you still managed to sneak into Hogsmeade AND get away unpunished.all the same, that mass murderer breaks into the castle at least twice, and almost kills your faithful little sidekick!! And then just last year, our," Draco shuddered, "DADA teacher turns out to be a Death Eater!! Voldemort managed to snatch you right out from under your precious headmaster's crooked nose!! And thanks to Dumbledore's shortsightedness, which his glasses aren't helping, we've got a deranged Dark Wizard running amok. How safe do you really think Hogwarts is? How safe do you think it will be?!"  
  
Harry's only response was, "He is innocent."  
  
"Hell, yes, Dumbledore is innocent and naive and worthless and-"  
  
"Sirius Black."  
  
Draco sobered slightly. "I know. Pettigrew - what did Voldemort call him? Wormtail? - I've seen him, seen how alive he really is." Draco trailed off, shivering. "Potter, I'm cold."  
  
"Demanding, aren't we?" The Boy-Who-Lived sighed, and Draco sat up before creaking springs revealed that Harry was moving over, making room for two small boys to fit into on twin bed. "Get up here, and bring the blanket. And if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll do exactly what I did to my cousin Dudley-"  
  
Draco snorted, "Whale. How did he get so huge if all your aunt feeds us is carrot sticks?"  
  
"- and set a boa constrictor on you."  
  
"You're really not good at threats, are you? I myself do have a reputation to uphold, and I'm not about to go telling anyone that I shared a bed with a Mudblood lover. Besides, if I hadn't summoned that snake in second year, you'd never have had any real idea that you could talk to them anyway." With that, Malfoy cimbed into the small bed and threw the blanket on top of himself and his nemesis. Harry smirked uncharacteristically and made more room for Malfoy to get comfortable in, before adding, "I thought I told you to shut the window."  
  
"You told me to give back the blanket OR close the window. Can't have everything in life, Potter," he argued.  
  
"Coming from you, Malfoy-"  
  
Draco stiffened. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't have a perfect life, not like you and the rest of the Golden Trio. If I did, I most certainly wouldn't be here, which I'd rather not be." His voice dripped with enough sarcasm to power an Oakshaft 79 for a few hours. "You take too much for granted, Potter, did you know that?"  
  
Draco rolled over so that his back was to Harry. The boys lapsed into silence as Draco drifted into sleep, but it was some time before Harry followed suit, having good reason for not wanting to sleep.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
All right, this is actually a repost. I had my first review, and the main thing that came up was that the format on her computer was screwed up. So, I took everything down, and am now trying to reupload it. Please remember I'm using a Japanese computer, and everything looks fine on my end, but if you have problems, TELL ME!! Right now, I'm more concerned as to whether or not the story is legible, but it's an added bonus if you like it. Actually, it's a lie when I say everything looks fine on my line -- quite often, when I read here in Japan, letters on the pages turn into kanji. Weeeeiiiiirrrrd..........  
  
Anyways, keep reading, keep writing, bai bai!! 


	3. Iyada!

Wheeeeeeeeeee! Chapter three!! I really have a boring life, even though I live in Japan...but did you know that the LOTR movie opens in Bosnia before in Japan??We still have another month to go here!! At least when the COS came out, I only had to wait a week.... ANYWAYS, if you've gotten this far, it means that you haven't lost patience with the screwy format *bows in shame* wakannai yo!! yabbai....so, as I said, if you've pushed your way through the tangled mass that is messed up alphabets, by all means, keep reading!!  
  
And remember, I DON'T OWN THEM!! But I do wear Slytherin sweaters and scarfs, and people in the streets of Yokohama point at me and scream, Harii Pottaa!! Surizarin!!! In fact, there's this group of girls at school that bother me every gym class, just asking why of all people do I like Draco..  
  
  
  
Dimly, he was aware of weak sunlight falling on his eyes, trying to force entry under the lids. He was also aware of a warmth next to his body, a warmth obviously not created by his rough blankets, simply because blankets didn't breathe gently, sending little puffs of air at his face. Of course, it could very well have been a pile of blankets just moving slightly in the light breeze sneaking in through the open window, and this theory was backed up by the fact that Harry didn't have a single blanket wrapped around his body. *Must've pushed them off during the night..* Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh, rewarded by a groan not from his own throat. His eyes snapped open immediately, only to cloud with confusion when he found himself staring into a pair of foreign long-lashed silver eyes fluttering and blinking owlishly in the light.  
  
Gazes locked, a maelstrom of emotions flying between, then -  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"  
  
Draco toppled ungainly out of the bed, right onto his wounded back, causing him to let out a string of curses and wailing that would have made Salazar Slytherin himself proud at having such a student in his House. Harry had sat up as though electrocuted, and was currently plastering himself as flat up against the wall as he could, eyes popping, face extremely red, as he added to the ruckus Draco was already making. Meanwhile, the intruder in Harry's bed had scrambled to a standing position unsteadily, being that his feet were still tangled in the stolen blankets he'd torn from the bed at his fall, and raced for the door, which he slammed on his way out.  
  
Breathing heavily, yet disengaging himself from the wall, Harry vaguely heard two more doors slam, before his own was thrown open again when Uncle Vernon decided to pay Harry a little visit.  
  
"What in the *blazes* do you think you're doing?!! It's 5:37 *in the morning!!* Some of us have to work today so that we can pay for *your* meals!!" Harry's agitated, red-faced uncle bellowed, not adding to the peaceful atmosphere he was trying to protect and defend. With a last glare at his disturbed and deranged nephew which sorely said that Harry dearly belonged in St. Brutus', he slammed the door a final time, and Harry distinctly heard the sound of several locks sliding into place.  
  
By now the shock of waking up in the same bed with a Slytherin had worn begun to wear off, and Harry slowly gathered his wits together, bringing with them the events of last night, revealing just *why* Harry had woken up in the same bed with a Slytherin. The vision that started it all also came rushing back, and his hand automatically went up to his scar. It still felt oddly swollen, proving that Voldemort was indeed quite displeased at something, that something obviously being Malfoy.  
  
Squinting, as if the past was playing in front of his eyes rather than from within his mind, Harry tried to recall the now blurry vision, muddled by several hours of thankfully undisturbed sleep. The gist was that Malfoy had disappeared, but what made Malfoy disappear in the first place? Harry began to brood, knowing that he wouldn't be disturbed any time soon.  
  
It was definitely not out of character for the Ferret to turn tail and run, but why would he turn tail and run from a wizard he'd always put on airs of hero-worshipping? Unless.Could Malfoy be here on Voldemort's orders? No, that wouldn't send Voldemort into the rage that Harry had felt through his scar, unless.unless Malfoy had acted before the plan was to go into effect? Either way, it was not looking good for Harry, who was in any case trapped in the smallest bedroom of the same house in which Voldemort's number one Little Leaguer was planning to reside for at least two months, possibly less if this really was some plot to ensnare the wizarding world's poster boy.  
  
Harry's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. His thoughts, which had been drifting towards depressive as Cedric's face swam into his mind's eye, were brought back to reality fairly quickly with the fact that he was only on his second day back from Hogwarts, which had not given him enough time to send out little messages-in-a-bottle to his friends and surrogate family for food, and it wasn't of any use as Hedwig still hadn't returned from her own foraging. Instead, Harry left the still-warm bed and shuffled over to his trunk, hoping to find some candy.  
  
Five minutes and one floor littered with books, robes, and the occasional bit of spare parchment later, Harry had settled down on his bed with some chocolate frogs and a box of Bertie Bott's, pulling faces as he bit into a cooked cabbage jelly bean followed by one of cat food, and began flipping through 'Intermediate Transfiguration' in the hopes of starting his summer schoolwork, refocusing his mind in the present, now that the day had truly dawned brightly over Privet Drive.  
  
**  
  
Draco slammed the door, leant into it, and slowly slid down to meet the floor, his back complaining at the contact the entire time. He wrapped one arm not at all gracefully around his legs, and the other hand went up to massage the bridge of Draco's nose - he could feel a pleasant migraine coming on.  
  
What in the name of Merlin possessed him to do *that?* Just exactly which mushrooms had he consumed at yesterday's dinner? The hand strayed from his face and pressed itself over his quickly pulsing heart. *Damn Potter!! Why did he have to be so.so..Gryffindor-ish?! Why the hell did I go along with his little befuddling game? Who does he think he is, trying to act the part of comrade-in-arms? As if he knows everything-*  
  
Draco jumped as he felt the door shake, but the reason for this became clear before he even had a chance to register the word, *Why?* Shouting could be heard, and Draco listened with increasing interest and amusement as Potter got his comeuppance.  
  
"--5:37 *in the morning!!* Some of us have to work today so that we can pay for *your meals!!*"  
  
There was a final structure-shifting slam, the sound of bolts being thrown, and then stomps back to the shouter's private quarters. Silence. Draco was now facing a completely Potter-free day, possibly longer if his bad luck stayed away for a much-needed change. But just as celebration of this thought began to run into full swing, Draco felt a bucket of ice drop into his stomach - a Potter-free day with three Muggles. *Three Muggles*.  
  
*On second thought*, Draco argued his previous standpoint, *Potter was only being his noble Gryffindor Defender self, all that I should expect from him*. Draco scowled, and his stomach got colder. *I either break him out, or risk Muggle infection*. He rolled his eyes. *Seriously, I don't know why the Ministry is so adamant about not putting Muggles under the supervision of the Beast Division in the Department for the Regulation and Control Of Magical Creatures..*  
  
The fact that Draco could remain in his room all day never occurred to him.  
  
**  
  
Stage One of Draco's master scheme went off rather well despite the fright he'd received earlier, with just a little help from his godfather. It was working so well, in fact, that you could actually hear the so-thought-to-be pampered heir snoring gently, a small silver flask of Dreamless Sleep standing open on the bedside table.  
  
**  
  
Around 8:30AM, Harry was having trouble reading the miniscule print under his nose, and his essay looked worse for wear - too much sugar was not beneficial to one's health so early in the morning, and Harry was now fighting off wave after wave of nausea. He briefly thought of the other wizard, and envied him the food he must be enjoying right now. Not to mention, the water.  
  
**  
  
A polite knock jarred Draco from unconsciousness around nine, and Aunt Petunia entered bearing a tray of scrambled eggs and bacon, with a stack of toast. She smiled her misty smile, eyes shining with adoration of the boy whom she wished she could keep forever.  
  
Oh, he'd been ever so sweet at dinner last night! Complimenting everything humbly, yet proving he had a head for intelligent conversation and a wit for belittling her nephew, not to mention the money..Petunia wasted no time as she watched him eat in telling the frankly appalled Slytherin how she was so excited to have him part of the family (Draco nearly choked on his slightly burnt toast - obviously not Potter's work - to hear that a *Muggle* wanted to practically adopt him). He'd most certainly NOT be coming back here. Petunia rattled on, completely unaware of the fact that her charge had started to move as far away from her as possible, which wasn't much considering that Draco was eating breakfast in bed, and this stalker was inching nearer from the edge of the bed.  
  
Time for Stage Two.  
  
Draco interrupted Petunia, though what talk he interrupted he would never know nor care.  
  
"It was certainly kind of you to bring me breakfast, you're ever so generous!! However, isn't this work below you? Where is that servant boy..what was his name again?"  
  
Aunt Petunia stiffened, and she pursed her lips. "Oh, him. His name is Harry, but we never go by first names with his kind. You needn't worry about offending him."  
  
Draco opened his mouth, in actuality to protest to Horse-face and her obvious dislike for what was *his* kind, too, but Mrs. Dursley cut him off. "Oh, you'll be wanting him to attend to you, of course. I'm dreadfully sorry, but we sent him out on errands today. He won't be back till late."  
  
*How very Slytherin of the woman*, Draco mused, *to lie outright to her 'son'. How very like some Slytherins I know*, he thought bitterly, his father for one springing to his mind. However, it looked like his original master scheme to save himself by saving Potter had failed. Time for the contingency plan.  
  
Petunia sighed dramatically, then began collecting the tray and piling the empty plates. "You're right," she said, "this is far below my stature." And with that she left the room, a tragic figure indeed. Draco snorted, then traced her steps to the door and locked it before pulling off the silk pajamas and grabbing some black Muggle clothes from within his drawers.  
  
Unfortunately, his new contingency plan wouldn't be able to come into effect until nightfall. *Dear Merlin, a day with Muggles*.  
  
**  
  
Harry had already seen the "Malfoy Meets Muggles" episode, but had he not been locked in his room, not to mention his own little world filled with Transfiguration essays, he would have witnessed one of far more disastrous effects: Malfoy Meets Muggle Devices.  
  
Dudley, who always favored brawn over brains, had been strangely quite taken by the youth of his same age that could cause Dudley's cousin's face to turn purple with simply words and not with hands around his neck or fists in his eyes. And what was even better was the lack of effort his fellow blonde needed! It was as if Draco had been doing it for years!!  
  
At first, Dudley had intended to share his hate of his cousin by regaling Draco with tales of his long lost passion for Harry Hunting, but then a new idea was placed in his mind: Draco was intelligent, and Dudley wanted to imitate him for the sheer joy of having two ways with which to humiliate Harry. Draco would not seem impressed by all the times Dudley had broken Harry's glasses, but what else did Dudley really know that Draco didn't? What intelligence did Dudley possess?  
  
The answer presented itself along with Draco when he came down the stairs late that morning.  
  
How?  
  
The lean boy entered the kitchen to find someone to talk to, and to maybe wheedle more food from his current parental unit, the other, he discovered, having left for whatever Mugglish work he did. He found Dudley chomping on low fat granola bars, eyes being sucked into the television. Draco tried to feign disinterest again, but the noise was just too distracting, the ending of something involving Muggles and martial arts. Aunt Petunia didn't even wait for him to ask for food, but rather produced a huge tray of vegetables and dip, and with a sing-song "Here you are, sweetheart," placed it on the table. Dudley abandoned his granola bars at once, and began scooping as much dip as he could onto a head of broccoli.  
  
It was then that the movie ended, a catchy theme song accompanying the credits. Dudley sighed contentedly, and muttered, "Wonder what's on next." However, Aunt Petunia, increasing her effort to play up to Draco, or "Drakie-darling", as she had so dubbed him in her mind, tremulously suggested, "Why not let your new brother choose?"  
  
Somewhat reluctantly, Dudley slid the remote across the table to Draco. Draco stared at it, confused. "What's that for?"  
  
Dudley's jaw dropped open, and if he didn't close it soon, he find himself victim to lockjaw and a few hours in the emergency room while nurses and oral surgeons fussed over him. *How could he never have seen a remote? Impossible!* Trying to cover the weak intelligence showing through, he said, "You know, it's just a remote, you change the channel with it, makes things much easier - you don't have to keep touching the buttons on the set, just sit in your chair, push the button, and *flick*, change the channel."  
  
Draco's response, "Oh, yeah..." He hesitantly lifted the.the.remote? and cast around for which button to push, thinking fast. What was the Land- Whale talking about, change the channel? Draco did manage to locate the word "Channel" over two protuberances, but which was he supposed to hit, up or down? He chose the "up" button, being that it was closest to the word "Channel" and pushed it, not forgetting the *flick* that Dudley had mentioned, a natural movement to a hand that usually held a wand. As a result, he almost fell out of his chair when the credits on the television turned into a cooking show. "It..it moved!!" The awe upon his face would have been evident to the dullest troll, and Dudley was not quite a troll, though he may have been the missing link.  
  
"Don't you..don't you watch TV?"  
  
Draco's fast-thinking ability to lie kicked in. Lamely. "Oh, well, they don't have televisions in France yet."  
  
Aunt Petunia shot him a quizzical look, wondering what the boy was on about. Draco intercepted the look, and realized he must have screwed something up. Correcting himself, he said, "At my school, we don't have TV in the dorms. I spend most of my time at school, as my parents are always traveling, so we don't have many of the comforts of this modern house."  
  
An awkward silence followed, but Aunt Petunia's furrowed brow relaxed. For a moment, he sounded exactly like some of the people her sister had always babbled about when she came home from that.that..that school, that same school that her nephew managed to attend despite all her efforts and her "Never go up against a Dursley" attitude. *Those people that had grown up without knowledge of normal life*.  
  
"Poor boy," she crooned. "Dudley, why don't you show him the computer?"  
  
That's when Dudley put two and two together: Draco didn't know about video games, or how to attack aliens on computers, or even how to work a remote. These were all daily occurrences quite familiar to Dudley.  
  
He'd finally found intelligence!!  
  
If only Draco had seen it that way.  
  
**  
  
It was some time later that Draco collapsed on his borrowed bed, for he flatly refused to call it his own, massaging his temples, now playing host full on to the migraine that the Dreamless Sleep Potion had fended off that morning. He didn't think he could take another minute in this house, not with the Land-Whale's sickening passion for something that didn't involve illegal curses in any way, nor with the preschool teacher tone the walking mass adopted as he explained to Draco how to turn on the computer, how to make that warped TV projection of yourself punch your equally warped opponent via a series of complicated codes simultaneously achieved by pressing buttons on a controller. Not that Draco wasn't utterly unaffected by the Muggles' Modern Marvels, but their amusement would have been better suited for the likes of Crabbe, or even Goyle (though some of what Draco had learned today might have been over Goyle's head), all the fake bloodshed and high kicking and blowing up aliens that in no way, shape, or form resembled the aliens described in some of the Malfoy family's most secretly guarded Dark Arts books. There was no way that a real alien could have been blown up by the Muggle contrivances used in these so-called 'games', it simply defied all laws known to wizard kind.  
  
Draco lay on the bed for some time, hoping the memory of kaleidoscope colors of the rapidly changing TV didn't send him into a seizure. Time passed, so gradually his room darkened, and it was only with some slight difficulty that he lit the bedside lamp (Harry had done it the night before when he'd come in to turn down Draco's covers on his aunt's orders - lucky he didn't think of short-sheeting - and Aunt Petunia had turned it off when she came in to wish Draco sweet dreams. Wondering vaguely whether Potter would make an appearance at dinner, or if not, if he would at least *make* dinner, being that Aunt Petunia's lunch of cottage cheese casserole had been far less than satisfactory, the tired blonde sighed and looked at the clock, now reading 6:04PM. If calculations were correct, he still had at least five hours before he could rescue his fellow prisoner, as Draco likewise thought of himself. Honestly, Draco wondered why Potter had never murdered the Muggles he lived with - but then again, there was always that fiasco from two years ago when Potter had inflated one of them. Admirable, really, of an every-noble Gryffindor, and a nice bit of wandless magic to boot.  
  
Slytherin's Pride picked himself reluctantly off the bed and locked the door to ward off curious prying Muggles. Turning to the bureau, and only fractionally recalling his beautiful ebony one in his lost stone room that spoke of the grandeur of the Malfoy clan over the generations, he pulled some quills and parchment out from within the bottommost drawer, and after some digging produced 'Advanced Potions' from the drawer above. He sorely wished he could place a locking charm on both drawers, but he assumed correctly in thinking that once let out of his room, Potter would be forced to reclaim all cleaning responsibility.  
  
Moving over to the cramped desk, he arranged the supplies as best he could before cracking down on his Potions essay for Severus, waiting for dinner, waiting for his plan to kick in.and waiting for Voldemort, night having begun to fall, the perfect time for one of secrecy and lies and fear to act.  
  
**  
  
The wind stirred his hair, pulling it off his peaceful face. A beautiful snowy owl flew in through the window on that breath of wind, silent and spectral. Her first instinct was to land in her cage for some food - her night's foraging had left her empty, and she'd spent the whole day sleeping in a tree, recovering the energy expended in her near misses. However, when her large amber eyes peered through the gloom of the bedroom and fell on her beloved master, she changed course to land on the nightstand, scattering some quills and half-eaten jellybeans, flavors like wasabi and sashimi. The curve of her wing cuffed the sleeping boy across the face, like a mother pushing back the hair of her child beforing kissing him on the forehead.  
  
Harry's eyes opened slowly, readjusting themselves to the dimness of the room, and he smiled contentedly at the sight of his pet. "Finally come home, eh? Don't worry, I won't send you off again too soon." He lazily reached out and tenderly stroked her, a touch she enjoyed, her eyes closing in pleasure of the contact.  
  
All too soon, it ended, as Harry pushed himself up from the bed, displacing some balled-up pieces of parchment and fortunately stoppered bottles of ink. Dusk outside meant that dinner would be commencing shortly. He groaned at the thought that he still had at least until tomorrow morning to go before he received any food, as the Dursleys had obviously given up the cat- flap method a few years ago. Sadly, he'd run out of edible jellybeans, and the chocolate frogs had long ceased to be, though he had received something that Ron would want - his long-sought-after card of Agrippa. In fact, now that Hedwig returned, he could probably send it to him, along with a letter hinting about food. But right now, his contracted stomach filled his thoughts. Had he been desperate, he would have checked the loose floorboard under his bed, but anything it could hide would be far passed unfit for human consumption.  
  
*Damn Malfoy.* This was all *his* fault. If Malfoy hadn't scared the crap out of him this morning, Harry would have at least been able to steal some of the food he normally cooked off the plates before the rest of the family got them.  
  
Well, there was nothing else to do. Harry turned on the lamp and went back to tidying up his sloppy Transfiguration essay.  
  
**  
  
Draco had brushed his teeth at least five times just to get the taste of Aunt Petunia's cooking, something low-fat and lacking flavor, out of his mouth. This was saying something about her bland cooking, being that as it had no flavor, tasting it shouldn't have left his mouth in such bad shape.  
  
Dudley had wanted another round playing TV games, and as Draco had hoped to tire him out early, he agreed. This just made Dudley more vociferous, more involved in the games as he beat Draco again and again, his expertise to be rivaled by none. This was not a feeling common to the Malfoy pride, one of being defeated. Only Potter had ever been able to slight Draco. Potter, and now a Muggle.  
  
Nevertheless, Draco's plan was at least an hour late by the time the Land- Whale tottered into his bedroom.  
  
Draco silently closed his door, waiting a few moments before the creaking of Dudley's bed added to the cacophony coming from the adult Muggles' room.  
  
Without hesitation, Draco leapt for his trunk, pulling the key out from beneath his shirt.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Okay, sorta cliffhanger...I'm writing chapter four, but I've got a Nihonshi test tomorrow, Kokugo homework for the next day....Wah!! All I wanna do is write!!!!  
  
Review if you feel like it. Jaa ne!! Baibai... 


	4. Mayonaka No Sanpo

Back with chapter four!! Argh, school takes up so much time!! Just wait till I start Kendou practice again.then I'll have about two minutes a day to eat, sleep, and write. Anyways, enjoy this chapter. I'm writing it while my three year old host brother watches really scary children's shows, so if there are any mistakes, you can blame it on the fact that the TV was being distracting, not to mention the screaming child jumping around the living room.  
  
Uh, yeah, um, I don't own anything written here. It belongs to people a lot bigger than me, both literally and figuratively, being that I'm not even 150 cm tall. So don't sue me, unless you want me to raise an army of munchkins and come after you with lollipops!!  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Say, when they're in love, does everyone get this lonely? Say, do they embrace the pain that's even deeper than the darkness?  
  
-- Yakusoku wa Iranai, Escaflowne ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
  
  
*Harry.*  
  
He heard it, that voice calling his name.  
  
*Harry.*  
  
It came again, a familiar, warm kind of voice whispering his name. Harry spun around wildly in the darkness encompassing him, a heavy nothingness whose oppression was beginning to make itself known to Harry's heart.  
  
"Who's there?!" he called flippantly, yet the lack of his normal impulsive courage in his voice startled even himself.  
  
There was a slight chuckle, but something about it was *wrong*, a hidden malice underlying its pleasant tone. And then the eyes appeared. Blue-grey, perfectly almond-shaped glittering orbs. Harry stepped back, alarmed, but the nothingness beneath his feet did not give way.  
  
*Harry*, those eyes said, *I thank you for making me immortal. The first to die by Voldemort's hand, the gentle Hogwarts prefect that everyone will admire for his bravery in the face of hardship. You did this for me, you made sure I'd be remembered, so that now when the masses look at you, the memory of me will fill their minds, they'll remember me, and what YOU did to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you....*  
  
Harry didn't scream, or protest, or deny what Cedric said. He simply curled up into a ball, arms tight arm his knees, and let the sound of Cedric's voice wash over him. *Thank you, Harry Potter. Golden Boy, Harry Potter...* echoing on forever, until....  
  
"Potter!! Pssst, Potter, dammit, wake up!!"  
  
Harry's eyes snapped open, slightly hindered by the sweat beading on his face. For a third time in the same twenty-four hours, his startled emerald eyes locked with the pissed-off Slytherin's. Harry opened his mouth to shout in surprise, but was cut off by the fast thinking Malfoy, who put a hand over his mouth with a warning glare. Harry's first instinct was to bite the hand, but as Malfoy didn't appear to have a wand in his hand, his thoughts of attacking Harry probably weren't on the front burner. It was still a few moments before the hand was withdrawn, at which point Harry demanded explanation.  
  
"How the hell did you get in here?! And for that matter, *why* are you here! I know you know how to use a door, so OUT, before I shout and wake the Dursleys!"  
  
Draco's eyes became malicious. "That is what is known as an empty threat. Call the Dursleys, and you'll be suffering another day with no food. And in case you didn't notice, the door is locked, so I can't get out that way either. But if those are the best thanks you can come up with, then I don't think you'll be wanting this." He dangled Aunt Petunia's nicked fruit basket in front of Harry's nose. As Harry made a wild grab for an apple, Draco pulled it out of reach with a little, "Nuh-uh!"  
  
Harry scowled, before muttering a word of thanks, plus some added insults. Draco smirked, and said, "No, I rather think I'd like to *hear* you thank me, Potter. If not...." Draco strode over to the window, and it was then that Harry noticed the Nimbus 2001 propped up against his sill. *So that's how the bastard was sneaking around....* He had to put it up to Malfoy - Harry had been living with the Dursleys' fits of locking him in his room for a while now, yet had never thought of flying out. His scowled deepened, but the force of the thought of no food for another day drove him to say, in a strangled voice, "Thank you."  
  
Malfoy turned around and gave a mock bow, but he did not relinquish the fruit basket. Instead, he called, "Well, are you coming? Or do I have to form a brute squad to chase you out?"  
  
"Coming where?"  
  
Draco sighed melodramatically. "For a ride, of course!! You can't expect *me* to stay trapped in a Muggle house for two months with no magic! So hurry up and get your broom!"  
  
Harry's eyes shown with excitement, but the look was quickly quelled when he realized whom he'd be sharing that excitement with. Malfoy would probably provoke him into a fight, and one or both of them would come home with a black eye. Or...or this could be a trap, Malfoy leading him to Voldemort, or something like that...  
  
He didn't realize he'd zoned out until Draco waved the fruit basket in front of his face with a little, "Hello, earth to Potter?! Food!!" Harry scowled at Malfoy, but defiantly extricated himself from the pile of books and parchment serving as his blanket, and gingerly stepped across the floor still littered with his Hogwarts belongings, before bending down to pick his broom out of the open trunk.  
  
Cedric's voice came back to him as he sorted through what robes still lay in the trunk, Cedric's voice, and the heavy depression of the dream. Harry's reluctance born of fear of Draco handing him over to Voldemort disappeared.*It would serve me right.* Harry didn't brush this off, this tenacious depression, goaded on by some nearby dementor. But he stiffened as he found his broom, the thrill of the flight that the Firebolt's mere presence emitted catching him off guard, and sealing the depression in a small part of his mind as well.  
  
Reverently, with the grace of a lover, he lifted the broomstick from its bed of clothes and strode over to his smirking rescuer. In normal circumstances, Harry would have been quite alarmed by Malfoy's expression, but he'd resigned himself to whatever fate this boy had in mind for him. And so, without pleasantries, he mounted the Firebolt and flew out over Privet Drive for the first time (on a broom, at least, the escape by flying car before Second Year notwithstanding).  
  
At once, all that had been haunting him was left on the ground, a feeling very reminiscent of his battle against the Hungarian Horntail. He looped and weaved, lost in the pleasure of this escapade. Even the sight of Malfoy coming to meet him in the air couldn't stop this feeling. With the goofiest smile on his face, even though the only one who saw the smile was the boy he'd hated for all his Hogwarts life, he called, "Where to?"  
  
Malfoy gave him a look that said Harry quite clearly wasn't the most clairvoyant crystal ball on Trelawney's shelf, and shot back, "It's your territory, not mine. I'm from Wales, not the near-London area."  
  
Harry paused in thought. Where to was right....it wasn't like he'd ever flown at night, *Like a wizard from children's storybooks and fairytales...* and the Dursleys rarely let him out of the house lest he manage to cause some odd, unexplainable incident that would tarnish the neighbors' impression of the perfectly-normal-thank-you-very-much Dursleys; thus, he'd never really explored the boundaries of Little Whinging. Leave it up to Malfoy to point out that Harry didn't even know enough about the Muggle world...and then it hit him.  
  
*Malfoy.* Malfoy hadn't directed him as to where to go. Malfoy had no plans for him. Malfoy wasn't leading him to Voldemort. *Yet.*  
  
Without a word, Harry stopped hovering in midair in thought, and veered off to the left, Malfoy following, believing Harry actually knew where he was going. *This could prove to be an interesting night after all.*  
  
The wind whistled in his ears as he careened through the air, rooftops blurring into darkness underneath him, and Harry's blonde shadow was hard- pressed to keep up with his second-class broom. The night was one of the new moon, and only the faint light of the street lamps below them gave any indication that they did not fly entirely in the blackest of voids. Silence reigned between them, yet their thoughts, while not concentrated on the other, were similar. Draco had told Harry the first time they had met how Lucius thought it would be a shame if Draco's talents on the Quidditch pitch went unnoticed, yet it would have come as a great surprise to Harry to know that his greatest joy in life was shared by none other than Malfoy. Both rejoiced in the freedom that only flying gave them, each having been imprisoned by destiny so long ago.  
  
As the boys fell victim to the joy of the air and the soaring feeling of their stomachs, the race to an unknown destination became less important, and they began a sort of dance, looping each other, diving after invisible snitches, feet skimming just above brown-tiled roofs before they climbed back into the air, near the sparse clouds. No words were spoken, but none were needed.  
  
Before long, the roofs gave way to trees, hills that were green in the sun, now great black hulks long past midnight. In fact, it was long after the witching hour that they stopped at all, Harry's tired yet sharp eyes having spotted a secluded clearing in the forest far below where he could land. Draco followed suit much more reluctantly, but picked up speed when he remembered the fruit basket in his hand of which his companion still hadn't partaken after a long day and a refreshing flight.  
  
Draco surveyed the scenic little clearing, trying to ignore the lump lying in the middle of the slighty dewy grass that was a rather winded Harry. It was a quiet place (if you ignored the chirping of the cicadas), being only a small stream pool in the middle with water flowing, and the trees gave off the sweet scent of summer, a smell of freshness and life swirling in his nostrils.  
  
His thoughts were brought back to the other sentient being in the clearing when that sentient being pushed himself up from the ground and launched himself at the food basket clutched in Draco's fist with such force that Draco stumbled to the grass as Harry's momentum hit him. The basket was wrenched from his hand, and by the time Draco had some sense of his attacker's position, said attacker was munching noisily on the very apple he'd tried to steal earlier. *Where does he get all this energy?* Draco shook his head and sat up, gently rubbing the left side of his back where Harry's body had collided with his.  
  
"Sho, whatch do now?" Harry asked around a mouthful of apple. Draco returned with a disdainful look.  
  
"First, you chew. Then you swallow. Then you talk. Or you could do it your way and just choke, and I'll be rid of you for good." Harry scowled and sulked, moving closer to the water and taking the fruit basket with him as he sat on a rock. Draco snorted as Harry removed his sock and gingerly put in a toe. The Golden Boy's face brightened immediately, and soon the second sock followed the first till his legs were wet almost up to the knees, just under his shorts. Pulling off a bunch of grapes, Harry began popping them in his mouth, kicking and splashing with his feet like a young child.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Draco moved closer to the water's edge, hoping to procure some fruit for himself before the starved minor ate everything. One thing was for sure, there would be a huge fiasco tomorrow morning when Horse-face discovered her empty fruit basket, and Harry would be blamed. Smirking, he picked out an orange, and began peeling it. He winced as flecks became lodged somewhat painfully under his nails, but he winced a good deal more when a great wave of water splashed over him. Spluttering, and quite wet to boot, he whipped his head around in search of the culprit, who then surfaced from under the water.  
  
Harry had pulled off his shirt, shorts and glasses, and was standing soaking wet in the water in only his boxers. Trying to push his black hair off of his face to no avail, he grinned at Malfoy, before wading over to his recently vacated rock and and grabbing another apple. Draco sent him the most patronizing look, but Harry ignored him, chewing hungrily on the apple, not taking time to savor each bite, but shoving it down as fast as possible.  
  
But in that look, Draco did take in the ribs still sticking out on Harry's chest, proving just how scrawny he really was. The Slytherin's eyes narrowed. *Potter should get enough to eat at Hogwarts, so why is he still skinnier than a rail?* Could it be that Harry was so used to not eating that he never ate over all? Or rather, it was like something was eating Harry from the inside, some inner demon that no amount of adoration and attention directed at the Boy-Who-Lived could destroy. It was as if the name of Voldemort was a poison slowly killing him, penetrating everywhere. And for the first time, Draco did feel pity for his rival and for himself, pity because Voldemort was already triumphing over the chosen savior of the wizarding world.  
  
Harry, having no idea of the inner workings of his companion's mind, simply asked, "You coming in, or do I have to drag you in?"  
  
Draco didn't register what Harry had said right away, but when it hit him, a digusted expression crossed his face.  
  
"Who do you think I am, Potter, a common Muggle? I don't go swimming in dirty pools in the forest that God knows what animal may have washed itself in!" Secretly, this wasn't entirely true, but getting in the water would mean revealing the bandages and cuts on his back, and that would lead to awkward questions from Potter..  
  
"Fine then," Harry said, "I'll drag you in." And he splashed over to where Draco was sitting with a demented smile on his face. The blonde stood up extremely quickly, backing away. He'd never seen that look on Harry's face, and something about it shouted that Potter meant to do exactly what he said he would, no matter what the challenges or the consequences. Harry scrambled out over the rocks, his wet feet slipping slightly on the smooth surface while he grabbed his glasses. Panicking, Draco bolted for his broom, but then his Slytherin instincts kicked in.  
  
He turned from the path to his Nimbus, curving back towards the water, and Harry skidded on the grass as he tried to copy the turn and trap Malfoy. Reaching the edge of the water, Draco grabbed Harry's clothes and ran around to the opposite side of the pool, jumping over the narrower part of the stream with Harry hot on his heels, the momentum from Harry's skidding wet feet on wet grass carrying him farther with each stride, but not fast enough. The two boys continued around the pool, back towards the landing site. With their brooms only feet away, Draco burst into a sprint, his longer legs doing him a favor. Reaching the broom, he shouted "Up", a laugh escaping his lips. His Nimbus sprang into his hands, and Draco was airborn.  
  
Hovering just above the trees, he teasingly waved Harry's dry clothes, taunting and daring Harry to come up, knowing that the wind around his wet body would seem freezing. Harry glowered from the ground, angry that Malfoy had actually gotten the better of him in their first fight this summer. And Draco wasn't stopping there. In examining Harry's clothes, he began laughing even harder. "Potter, I didn't know you needed to safety pin your shorts in addition to a belt just so you could wear them! These are worse hand-me-downs than those rags the Weasleys wear!!"  
  
Harry didn't need a second invitation, and within seconds was hurtling towards Malfoy on his Firebolt. Still laughing, the blonde took off in the direction they had come, clutching the clothes under his arm like a Quaffle, as Potter zoomed next to him, making violent attempts to retrieve his clothes. Seekers became Chasers as they banged into each other, treating the shirt and shorts very much like the huge red leather ball used for scoring in their favorite game. Harry was resorting to any and every Slytherin play he could remember from their matches to, grabbing at everything from Malfoy's head to his broom, but it wasn't helping that his antagonist was indeed a Slytherin himself, and so knew every trick Potter could pull against him. Personally, Draco was impressed. He hadn't ever truly seen Harry display Slytherin characteristics save for his Parseltongue ability, and he actually allowed himself to smile and laugh at the influence his presence for merely two days had had on the other boy. Or was it all Draco's influence?  
  
Lost in their own game, they didn't noticed the houses below until Draco dived to escape Harry's two-handed attempt to push Malfoy with one hand and grab his clothes with the other, and nearly ran into a huge satellite dish. As he climbed back up into the air, he shouted back at Harry, "What the hell was that?"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, and shouted, "Give me my clothes back and I'll tell you!! Don't and I'll make sure you catch the cold I'm bound to get, thanks to you!!" Putting on a fresh burst of speed, he propelled himself through the air at his distracted opponent.  
  
Recovering all too quickly, Draco dove down into the trench between the houses created by the road, still laughing. He turned around to glance at Harry, waving Harry's clothes behind him like a banner.  
  
Harry wasn't there.  
  
Draco stopped still, floating just feet above the pavement. *Where did the git go?*  
  
There came a whistling breath of air, and the git collided with him from behind, both boys ending up in a tangled heap in the middle of the road, with a final clatter of brooms hitting the ground alongside of them.  
  
Harry sat up first, half sitting on Malfoy's chest, holding his clothes up to make sure there weren't any more holes he'd have to safety-pin together. Draco meanwhile was panting, the pain of the pavement digging into his back nearly paralyzing him. Struggling, he tried to push Harry off with a, "You cheating bastard!!"  
  
Harry just smirked at him and said, "I was cold. It was either risk your ass now or go around with a box of tissues for the next few days while I'm doing *your* cleaning and cooking *your* food."  
  
"You are so immature, Potter...."  
  
"Oh, immature, am I? Who was it that stole my clothes in the first place?"  
  
"Well, if *you* hadn't threatened to throw me in the water, I wouldn't have had the idea of stealing your clothes in the first place!"  
  
"Well, if *you* hadn't suggested this whole midnight-flight, I wouldn't have gotten all sweaty and disgusting and I wouldn't have gone in the water myself in the first place!"  
  
"Well, it *you* hadn't gotten trapped in your room all day with no food, I wouldn't have had to be all nice and out of character by rescuing you in the first place!!"  
  
"Well, if *you* ha-"  
  
A new voice cut him off.  
  
"Well, WHOEVER started it, you two boys don't need to be fighting it out in the middle the road at three in the morning in front of MY house!!"  
  
Harry looked up, startled. Mrs. Figg was stalking down from her open front door, a torch in one hand, and a cat being cuddled in the other.  
  
"Mrs...Mrs. Fi..Figg," Harry stammered. She silenced him with a look that he'd never seen on her kind face; then again, he'd never woken her up at this time of the night after a ride on his broom. His broom!! He scuttled backwards slightly and attempted to block Mrs. Figg's view of the two broomsticks lying forgotten on the pavement. He looked to Malfoy for help, but the blonde had a rather impassive look on his face.  
  
Mrs. Figg marched down her walk and through the small gate in her low garden wall before stopping in front of the two boys, letting the light fall over them both. It was amazing how much she reminded Harry of McGonagall at that moment as she surveyed the two delinquents.  
  
"Hmph," she started, "I'd expect this sort of thing from a Malfoy, but I thought better of you, Mr. Potter."  
  
Harry's jaw dropped and his eyes widened, but Malfoy countered with a sneer, "I don't know what you base your idea of Potter on, *Mudblood*, but the name of Malfoy commands more respect."  
  
"A Malfoy in the wizarding world is one thing. A Malfoy brat sitting on a Muggle road without his wand is a completely different story," the witch barked. Malfoy was subdued, but the impassive look had settled upon his face again. Harry tried to win back some support, even though his eyes were popping.  
  
"We're really sorry, er, Mrs. Figg...I..um..we sorta lost track of time and..well...um..."  
  
Draco burst out laughing. "Really eloquent, this one, isn't he?"  
  
Surprisingly, Mrs. Figg chuckled along. "No, he's just suffering the surprise from a major revelation."  
  
The cat in her arms mewed lightly, and sprang to the ground gracefully. It walked right past Draco with it's tail held high, but stopped to touch it's nose delicately to Harry's knee. Harry shivered involuntarily at the coldness the touch afforded him, coldness that he really didn't need, being that he was still wearing only his damp boxers. The contact didn't last long as the cat moved on to the brooms behind Harry, sniffing interestedly, as if recalling the joy itself of what a broom did.  
  
The light from Mrs. Figg's torch made the painted name of `Firebolt` shine brightly, and she nodded approvingly.  
  
"Got yourself a very good broom, Harry, good." Draco scowled. "Understandable that you should want to fly it, but do try to keep your evening entertainment quiet. Good evening to the both of you." She chirruped to her cat, and the odd pair went back up the walk and into the house.  
  
Harry just stared after her, but Malfoy got to his feet. "Come on, let's get home. If your aunt has to cook breakfast again instead of you, I think I'll puke it all over her."  
  
Harry said nothing, but stood nonetheless. Silently, he gathered his clothes and picked up his broom as Draco did the same. Then, he asked, "How can you tell whether a person is a Muggle or a wizard? And how do you tell whether that wizard is Pureblood or Muggle-born?"  
  
Draco snorted as he mounted his broom, waiting for Harry to do the same. "It's the feeling you get in their aura."  
  
"Aura?"  
  
Draco ignored him for now, but whispered, "Just hurry up and get home. I'm not about to teach you about aura right in front of that Mudblood's house."  
  
Harry's face heated up. "Stop calling her a Mudblood!! She may be slightly mad, but she's taken care of me more kindly than the Dursleys' ever did! What is your problem with Muggle-borns anyway? I think you're the one that needs to do some growing up and realize that her blood doesn't make her any less than you!!"  
  
Without waiting for a response, his emerald eyes turned from Malfoy and he rose into the air. Draco sighed, wondering how being raised by the Dursleys had actually not managed to make Harry biased. Neither spoke as they flew the last few blocks home.  
  
Harry's window was still wide open, and when he alighted, the snores coming from somewhere beyond the four walls confirmed that the Dursley's had no idea of Harry's breakout. Draco landed silently besides him, wondering if Harry was still angry with him, especially since the boy wouldn't look at him.  
  
Surprised by his own daring, Draco reached out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry didn't jump at the feeling, but simply said, "Thank you."  
  
Draco's pride kept him from acknowledging this as he turned and walked over to the window, but he stopped, his hand on the sill, and said in his most adult - teacher voice, "I'll teach you about aura, er, tonight I guess it is, if you're not to wiped out from doing all the cleaning you missed yesterday, plus today's cleaning and cooking and washing and repairing the house and taking care of the lawn and -"  
  
Harry snickered a little, and said, "I get the picture, Malfoy. See you at breakfast." Carelessly he dropped his clothes on the floor and pushed the rest of the school supplies off his bed.  
  
Draco smirked a little, and went back to his own room satisfied rather with the way the night had gone.  
  
**  
  
I'm trying to keep our boys in character as much as possible. If you're not happy, just tell me..And I'm gonna try to upload chapter one again, to see if I can get rid of those square-thingies. Gomen ne, me with my Japanese Dell.  
  
Next chapter: um..when I get some brain food, I'll figure out what's gonna happen in chapter five. Look at me, admitting that I have no plot planned for the story past chapter four!! Inconceivable!!  
  
Oh, and Fizzing Whizbees for whoever picks out both the slightly obvious "Princess Bride" reference and the not-so-well-known "10th Kingdom" reference, which is a direct quote.  
  
And the "most clairvoyant crystal ball" quote is mine, but feel free to use it!! 


	5. Sukoshi Yuuutsubyou

Okay, I just had a four day weekend because it's ENTRANCE EXAM TIME for all those little elementary kids wanting to get into middle school and all those middle school Yuuki Miakas trying their little hearts out to get into high school.  
  
So, for those who haven't read my bio, know that I don't have a little piece of paper that says I own Harry Potter. If you sue me, understand that you will most definitely be paid in yen.  
  
Now for a little talk about me and the way this chapter is going to go. There's no getting around the fact that I have depression, and so this story is kinda a little pet for me to explore my feelings on the subject. This chapter in particular is going to get a little angsty on Harry's part. Not overly, for though I believe JK-sama will write more of her experience with depression into the series, I also believe that Harry himself, while in part a tragic figure, is a pretty brave kid, although he does tend to bottle up emotions. Ah, well, we'll see what happens in the OOTP. As for now, just remember that Harry's not going to be the happiest in this chapter.  
  
  
  
"BOY!!!!!!!!!"  
  
Harry's eyes scrunched tighter, and he wrapped the pillow around his head to stop the earsplitting shriek from resounding in his head. The shrieking was soon accompanied by banging on the door and the sound of locks being undone. Harry lifted his eyelids, blinking in the dawn light, just as his door was slammed open, and Aunt Petunia entered, her hair still in rollers.  
  
"Boy!! Where's the fruit basket!!? How dare you sneak out with your dirty tricks and steal food meant for hard-working people!!"  
  
Harry tried to understand what she was saying. He hadn't stolen any fruit basket, now, did he? Malfoy had done that...that's right, last night, they'd gone out on their brooms and got caught by Mrs. Figg and...  
  
The fruit basket!! They must have left it in the forest at that stream!!  
  
Harry groaned and brought his hands up to his face. *Damn damn damn!!*  
  
Aunt Petunia misinterpreted his reaction as actual guilt.  
  
"That's right, you dirty little liar! I should lock you in here for another day, but," she flushed slightly as she remembered what Draco had said yesterday morning at breakfast, "the work that *I've* been forced to do in *your* place is really quite below me."  
  
She drew a sharp breath in through her nose, glaring at her nephew, and said, "Get dressed and get downstairs. Your Uncle has to go to work today, and Dudley's friends are coming to meet Draco. Don't you *dare* embarrass us or do anything....unnatural, do you understand?"  
  
She turned on her heel and swept out the door with the regality of a queen dealing with a contemptible urchin. Harry relaxed back into the bed, before slithering on to the floor and rummaging for clothes out of his wardrobe, while throwing all his robes and homework back into the trunk, lest Dudley's friends find them suspicious. Hedwig's cage was empty, disappointing Harry, though it was probably for the best.  
  
His clothes hung pathetically off him, and as he looked in his reflection, he began to dread what Dudley's friends would say about his appearance when they arrived, and the fact that they'd say those things in front of *Malfoy*, of all people. And how was Malfoy going to act when the number of Muggles in the house increased? And it wasn't helping to calm Harry's nerve that these Muggles were all coming just so they could *meet* Malfoy.  
  
*Oh, God, Malfoy is gonna hex them, he's so gonna hex them, and then we'll both be in trouble with the Ministry and Dumbledore and Voldemort...*  
  
Grimacing, he walked out of his door and straight into a tousle-haired, bleary-eyed Draco on his way to the bathroom. Harry tripped up slightly, but Malfoy, whose hair was sticking up in the back, wasn't affected, aside from the fact that he looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion. He merely glared intensely at Harry and said, "Watch it, Potty. Thanks to you and your bloody banshee aunt...."  
  
A stricken expression crossed Harry's face. "We forgot the fruit basket!! She thought I nicked it!! So don't blame me!!"  
  
Draco's reply was accompanied with a dry chuckle. "I see. Well, she *is* a Muggle, Harry."  
  
Still chuckling to himself, he walked past Harry and into the bathroom.  
  
The raven-haired boy didn't move, didn't even hear the lock click. He would have heard it if his mouth hadn't been working like a fish's and his mind going faster than his Firebolt in a nose-dive.  
  
Malfoy had called him by his first name.  
  
**  
  
Harry stood at the stove, frying vegetables to use as toppings for that morning's toast, butter having gone out of fashion for the Dursleys' themselves. Aunt Petunia was actually lathering the creamy yellow substance on a stack of toast reserved for her Drakie-darling, with a simpering smile that was just sickening. Lifting his head from his cooking, he glanced surreptitiously at her.  
  
*"She's a Muggle, Harry."*  
  
It wouldn't leave him alone. It pestered him like an overactive mosquito, buzzing in his mind, taunting, tormenting. It wasn't only the fact that Malfoy...or Draco? Must Harry call him Draco now?...........had called him by his first name, but it was the way he said it, the way it just rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.  
  
Harry allowed himself a small smile. If Draco hadn't come off as such a spoiled snobbish Pureblood brat four years ago, it would have been normal for the two of them to be...to be friends. They would have called each other by their first names all along.  
  
But they couldn't be friends then, and what made either of them think that they were friends now? Even last night, all they'd done was fight for the position of supremacy, just the same as they had done for four long years of cruel words and violent Quidditch matches. How could he just forget all that they had shared together, just put it behind him?  
  
No, it had just been *Malfoy's* slip. The both of them were letting out the steam; after all, being trapped together with Muggles who would kick them out the minute they let something slip about their true heritage wasn't quite the atmosphere for their normal bantering and slanging. Of course, they'd pretend to act as support for one another behind the Dursleys' backs, but nothing would have changed between them once they returned to Hogwarts. It wasn't worth the effort to become Malfoy's *friend* just to be snubbed back at school.  
  
**  
  
Harry didn't notice Draco enter the kitchen, but Aunt Petunia most certainly did.  
  
"Awww, Sweetie-pie, what are you doing up so so early? You should be getting some nice sleep right now!" she called in a coquettish voice, all thoughts of Drakie-darling's toast abandoned. Draco himself looked rather alarmed by the woman's severe maternal attitude,?and backed toward the door, but possessed enough courage in the face of glittering teeth and perfectly curled hair and a neck that looked as if it could extend to stutter out, "It's..it's o-okay, I, um, just want some...some food, uh, Aunt..Aunt Pe-Petunia"  
  
Harry whispered quietly, "Really eloquent, this one, isn't he?"  
  
Draco glanced at him scornfully. *Trust Potter to throw that back in my face.* Remembering that Harry was supposed to have been gone on errands yesterday, he decided it was now or never for payback. Well, Aunt Petunia was watching, sooo...  
  
"Finally back, are you?" He sneered at Harry. "I was beginning to think you'd run off, ungrateful wretch. After all that your relatives do for you, you can't even extend them the courtesy of being fast about your tasks? They keep you on when no one else would want you, and you still leave them to lift more fingers than their birthright gives them need to! My family wouldn't have you on for a servant if it meant our fortune."  
  
Petunia sighed graciously at the end of Draco's speech, longing to throw her arms around him or clap or sing...he was such an extraordinary boy!! She wished Vernon and Dudley could have heard that!  
  
Draco was also slightly impressed with himself, until he realized that Potter was showing no physical reaction, like reddening or glowering, nor did his eyes become overly bright or did his bottom lip tremble. He continued to gently move the vegetables around the frying pan with the wooden paddle as if he hadn't heard a word that had been said.  
  
**  
  
But Harry had heard.  
  
*No one else would want you.*  
  
*Ungrateful wretch.*  
  
*Birthright.*  
  
*My family wouldn't have you...if it meant our fortune.*  
  
No, Malfoy most certainly hadn't changed. *And here I was actually entertaining the idea of our friendship.*  
  
Depressed, though he was not entirely familiar yet with the name of his most recent ailment, Harry applied himself to his vegetables, utterly ignoring the world around him, and would not look anywhere but at the frying pan. The vegetables gave off a sweet smell, reminding him slightly of the fire from Professor Trelawney's room, and the heat from the stove burned at his eyes. The steam - or was it smoke?-tore his throat, making him need to cough.  
  
But the youth resisted, not wanting to show weakness in front of his enemy.  
  
*"I'll teach you about aura tonight.*  
  
An ill-aimed swipe with the paddle sliced a pepper in half cleanly.  
  
**  
  
He didn't know what he did.  
  
Why? Why was Potter ignoring him? He could have *sworn* he hadn't said anything out of character!! Potter *never* brushed Draco's comments off, unless of course the Mudblood was whispering, "Ignore him, ignore him" in his ear.  
  
*Was he simply longing for his wand, in order to curse me? Was it that bad? Or maybe....is he just tired?*  
  
Thoroughly bewildered, Draco sat down at the kitchen table. He hardly registered the fact that Horse-face had put a huge stack of toast in front of him and was now providing him with about five varieties of jelly. Absentmindedly, the blonde chose a piece from the tottering pile as Aunt Petunia sat herself across from him, gazing rapturously at her little doll. Draco stared back at her, though lost in thought, until Aunt Petunia herself realized that she'd been staring. She broke the silence, marred only by the crunching of the toast in Draco's mouth, without much preamble.  
  
"Oh, honey, you won't mind, will you? Dudley's friends want to meet you!! They are all coming today, Piers and Lucas and...oh, my, sweetie, are you okay??!!"  
  
Draco had choked and promptly spit out the offending piece of toast at her pronouncement. "WHAT??!!"  
  
"Oh, don't worry, Draco-honey, they won't be here for a few hours, so you've got plenty of time to get ready! I know you want to be looking your best, so don't fret!!" she continued, smiling warmly.  
  
Draco let out the tiniest squeak. And then it happened.  
  
Harry burst out laughing.  
  
Aunt Petunia rounded on him with speed unsurpassed in the Muggle world.  
  
"Boy, how dare you! Even if *you*, you with your awful hair and freak disposition, if you can't see the importance of trying to impress someone, then let those who know how to live properly as true human beings do so without your rude interruptions! Just like your mother! I have half a mind to lock-"  
  
"Please stop."  
  
Harry looked up in surprise from his doubled-up position by the stove. Malfoy wasn't glaring at anyone, but rather simply staring down his nose at his toast. The Gryffindor's eyes narrowed. *So Malfoy is gonna play the hero now, is he?*  
  
Malfoy looked up and caught Harry's expression. He smirked smugly and lifted a delicate eyebrow at Harry before turning to Aunt Petunia and saying, "Don't waste your energy. You'll have a number of teenage boys running around the house today, and you'll need your strength to keep us all in check. If he wants to waste his time laughing when he's still got breakfast to prepare, well, you shouldn't lower yourself to his level...so, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get ready. Thank you for an early breakfast, as I really didn't mean to inconvenience you."  
  
Draco walked out of the kitchen doorway calmy, disappearing from view like a shadow when the cloud moves from in front of the sun.  
  
**  
  
Harry stared after him, nearly as confused as Draco had been earlier. Malfoy had just....helped him, although it had been dimly disguised as insult. Well, he hadn't *helped* him, truth be told, but he had stopped Aunt Petunia from stumbling into enemy territory, for one never insulted Harry's parents to his face without provoking violent reactions that didn't require a wand.  
  
Aunt Petunia stood still, watching as Draco left, but did not return to scolding her nephew. She simply sniffed angrily and set about throwing out at least four pieces of uneaten toast, before snapping at Harry to set the table for three.  
  
**  
  
Safely hiding within his cell, this....this cell of a room that Severus had sent him to, Draco contemplated all that had passed since he'd entered the kitchen that morning. Harry had been acting so oddly, and disturbing even. The lack of reaction when Draco had teasingly (as he thought of it) insulted Potter, except for maybe that deadened look in his eyes...It was so frustrating!!  
  
Draco had actually felt relieved when the other boy had burst out laughing at Draco's plight, having to deal with more Muggle contact in three days than he'd experienced in fifteen years, the ones in helicopters notwithstanding. The Slytherin frowned at no one in particular. Seeing Potter laugh at him again made things seem like normal between them.  
  
Last night had been...interesting, to say the least. The young Malfoy had seriously considered their escapade to have been one of fun, not making fun of. Spirit, not spite. He and Potter had never shared that before, and though Draco had enjoyed his little evening of fun, on reflection, he wondered if it had changed things between the two rivals.  
  
It hadn't. Had it?  
  
Draco couldn't divine the answer, but something was telling him that he wasn't going to like it when he found it.  
  
**  
  
Harry had spent at least an hour and a half after breakfast straightening the house for its impending guests, everything from dusting off the already impeccable TV and game control system (impeccable from overuse - it rarely ever sat still long enough to become dusty), to making Dudley's bed for him and rearranging Dudley's computer game collection.  
  
By 9:00AM, he was waiting by the door, ready to open it and take people's coats. Harry didn't like being in so open a place where it was painfully obvious that he would be noticed, causing a number of stinging words and possibly some punches from Dudley's posse-boys. Dudley himself was sitting watching TV, as usual, bored and basically pretending to be not at all caring that his friends were about to show up.  
  
Harry stared out of the side pane of the door, wishing the car would hurry up - *The sooner they get here, the sooner they'll leave.* - but a creak alerted him too clearly to the presence behind him. He felt Malfoy lean in close, and the taller boy whispered in his ear, "Tonight, midnight?"  
  
Harry stiffened, almost feeling a blush climb his face. Malfoy chuckled at the other's discomfort.  
  
"You wanted to know about aura, right? Well, I'm about to have a really bad day, and the least you can do is make it up to me, just let me do something that doesn't involve Muggle contraptions. Leave your window open, and I'll come to get you."  
  
Harry's back was suddenly cold as Malfoy stepped away and walked nonchalantly into the living room. Dudley immediately looked up from the TV and grinned at his partner-in-arms. He then noticed Harry standing by the door, and took the time to say, "Up for a game of Harry Hunting today? Man, haven't done that in years!! Piers has been looking forward to it. Make sure you've got tape ready for those giant frames of yours, 'cause they're gonna be in a few pieces soon!"  
  
He chortled and went back to the TV, engaging Draco in some extraordinary conversation about the main actor's scandalous love liaisons.  
  
Draco was more interested in this so-called Harry Hunting thing, and wasted no time in asking. Harry chose that moment to walk into the kitchen and make sure that the special junk food bought for today was all set up and ready to be devoured by everyone other than himself. *It's gonna be a long day. At least I DO have some Spello-tape....*  
  
**  
  
By noon, Draco was ready to take his Nimbus 2001 and concuss all three of his stalkers soundly, or transfigure them into anything BUT ferrets (ever since that crazed old loon attacked him, Draco had had a profound apathy towards ferrets, whether originally human or not). Potter had in all ways disappeared, as if he had an invisibility cloak or something, completely stranding Draco.  
  
Not that the Malfoy heir blamed him entirely. This...Piers was slightly scrawny, but his friend Lucas was nearly as huge as the Land Whale, the two of them plus Piers took up the entire couch by themselves, forcing the slender Slytherin to sit on the floor. He'd never had to sit on a floor in his life, let alone a *dirty* Muggle floor, conveniently having forgotten that Harry had scrubbed it two days ago. And stalkers they were indeed! They had barely said a word of greeting to their *real* friend, and had almost ignored Harry ("Oh look, Four-eyes *still* has those same glasses!! I thought we'd broken them too often!!"), before pouncing on Draco, the first words out of their mouths being, "What are chicks in France like? Wish mum would send me to school there!!"  
  
And did they ever stop eating? Did they have a real cornucopia or something that kept refilling itself? Not even the Hogwarts house elves were that good! It was making the young wizard utterly disgusted, these pig-like antics of theirs. Rolling his eyes, he fended off the intruders and their questions doggedly, swearing that at certain Scarhead nearby had a Time Turner and was screwing with his mind on purpose. *That would be so like Golden Boy, Dumbledore's little pet, able to get away with anything...* Giving up, Draco asked his first question with no intimidation.  
  
"So, who wants to go for a walk?"  
  
Dead silence reigned.  
  
**  
  
She smiled as she opened the door, positively shining with excitement that he had come.  
  
She had hoped he would, no, *knew* he would, for even as a child had he been curious. She didn't blame him, for he'd lived in a house steeped in secrecy and lies all his childhood, and that "Never ask questions" business was more than enough to provoke the desire for an answer. Curiousity in a child was no harm, after all. It simply conveyed a wish to learn, something that was slowly disappearing from the youth of modern times.  
  
"Harry dear, do come in. It's been quite some time since you came to visit me in - er, normal circumstances. Actually, I don't believe you've ever come to me of your own volition, but I must say, it's always a pleasure having you here! When it's *not* three in the morning, that is."  
  
Harry laughed in spite of himself. He stepped cautiously into the witch's house, for even though he'd been in her cabbage-smelling dwelling before, a few summertime excursions to the Burrow had left him wary of magical houses.  
  
Barely two steps off the doormat, he nearly tripped over the cat winding its way between his legs, grinning benignly up at him. Mrs. Figg directed him to her moldy lace-covered sofa, before drawing a long wand from the deep pocket of her apron and summoning two empty glasses and a pitcher of pumpkin juice onto the living room table.  
  
The old lady sat next to Harry and poured the drinks. Her charge, as she had always considered Harry, wasted no time in downing his, for though the walk from the Dursley's wasn't a long one, the heat of the day was not conducive to strolling under the blinding sun. Arabella watched the boy sip more slowly at his second cup before beginning conversation.  
  
"So, out without the Malfoy boy this time, are you?"  
  
Harry was not used to this direct talk from his babysitter, well remembering the babbling she used to do when he was little. And did she have to remind him of Malfoy right away?  
  
"Yeah, he's hanging out with Dudley's friends now." He allowed himself a smirk, wondering how the other boy was faring, and imagining very horrible things happening right around now.  
  
Mrs. Figg was not as amused. "You left a *Malfoy* with Muggles? Well, you can always move in with me if the Dursley's house is in ruins when you go home."  
  
Harry allowed himself a little giggle. "At least I'd be rid of Malfoy."  
  
Mrs. Figg suddenly became serious. "You shouldn't talk that way. Most certainly not about that boy. He may be a Malfoy, and that name does one very little good, though much fear, in the eyes of others these days, but he's got his heart in the right place. Otherwise he wouldn't be in that beastly Muggle house you call home during the summer holidays."  
  
No, Mrs. Figg was still mad, if she was sticking up for a Malfoy like that. Harry wanted to tell her of all the horrible fights and duels and all the intense rivalry that students at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry had become used to witnessing between the two pillars of Gryffindor and Slytherin. And yet, Malfoy *had* been semi-decent since he showed up on the Dursley's doorstep not forty-eight hours ago.  
  
Arabella sensed the furious battle being waged in Harry's mind. She gave him a nudge in what she personally believed was the right direction. "Hasn't he even told you why the Dursley's weakness was exploited, why they were tricked into taking him in?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "He wouldn't tell me. He said...he said it would make me too hopeful for the side fighting against Voldemort. Malfoy....He said that we don't have a chance of defeating Voldemort." His voice wavered slightly as he spoke.  
  
His listener's expression became grave. "Harry. You must listen -"  
  
But Harry didn't listen. His throat became tight, and a headachy feeling of suppressed tears settled around his temples.  
  
"We....we talked the-the first night, Malfoy and I. And now that I think about what he said, it makes sense. Ever since I was a baby, I've been hunted by *him*. Every year at school, someone new turns up trying to-to hurt my friends, and to get me out of the way. My only family is in hiding, wanted for murder, and most students at Hogwarts are wishing I was going to dementors with him, after Cedric...An-And now I'm stuck with the same guy I've hated for all my school life, and he keeps breaching our little line of mutual hatred, helping me, or actually half-trying to be my friend. But he's *not* my friend, he can't be...It's just not fair anymore!"  
  
Harry stared at the ground, feigning interest in the fuzzy brown carpet, when all he was really doing was trying to disguise the tears threatening to spill.  
  
"Harry."  
  
He heard her, of course, but he couldn't look at her. She was about to tell him that everything would be all right, just like everyone else had. About to tell him that life would get better, that they'd defeat Voldemort, that Harry would live to see his eighteenth birthday...everything he didn't want to hear.  
  
"You've carried a terrible weight all your life. You will carry it for much longer, Little Lion. It will be over one day, whether for good or for bad. We can't change that at all. It *isn't* fair that this happened to you, but I can assure you that anyone in your position would feel even worse. Albus has probably told you hundreds of times, but you can't give up hope. You don't want to hear it, but all across Europe, there are witches and wizards who have so much faith in you. They've never met you, you've never met them, but they exist. You're not fighting for yourself anymore, not after what happened at the Last Task. But you will not be alone."  
  
Harry didn't respond right away. He half felt resentment, as if Mrs. Figg was a mother berating her child who'd just broken an expensive vase. He half felt that she was right. But he didn't know what to believe.  
  
Trying to divert the conversation, he asked, "Why? Why did Malfoy come to stay at the Dursleys'?"  
  
Mrs. Figg knew he was ignoring her talk, but didn't try to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation. It was not best to force these things on children. Playing along with Harry's diversion, she said, "That's for the Malfoy boy to tell you himself. Like you, he made a major choice, and like you, he's now facing the consequences. You two truly aren't that different, Harry."  
  
"How come *you* know why he's here and I don't?"  
  
Smiling, she told him, "Albus told me. He and I had to tweak the spells over the Dursley's house to take care of the both of you."  
  
"Spells? You mean...You mean like the Fi-Fidelius charm, don't you? Voldemort said - he told the Death Eaters that the wards around the Dursleys' house were so powerful that even he couldn't touch me."  
  
Her smile broadened. "Oh, I wouldn't say *so* powerful...you've just got a very good Secret Keeper, if I may say so myself. We Muggle-borns know what we're doing."  
  
For the first time in what seemed like ages, Harry cracked a small grin. "I should introduce you to my friend Hermione sometime..."  
  
"You mean your shared girlfriend from Witch Weekly?"  
  
Harry groaned.  
  
**  
  
  
  
Okay, guess what? Slash starting next chapter!! I *DO* have plot planned out after all (yeah, I totally botched up my calligraphy project because it was all I could think about...hate calligraphy).  
  
Now, I want to thank all the people who approve of my steps into somewhat creative writing. Actually, I'm thanking everyone who reviewed, because for some reason, everyone liked it...  
  
Nanono - *smile* Thanks so much for being the first person to review!! Are the square thingies still there? Everything looks fine from my computer, but I don't know. When I write I use Japanese Word, but all the commands are in, um, Japanese, and being that I don't even know the American commands, it's not much help. Anyways, keep reading!!  
  
Sirius - Thanks so much!! I'm not usually the most humorous of people, but I'm trying my best. I also know what you mean about keeping characters in, well, character. Even though this chapter kinda opens a side of Harry that I personally believe exists, I hope you still think that they're the same old Draco and Harry that we all love.  
  
Amethyst Shard - Yes the plot line is a bit overused, which is exactly why I wanted to do it, to see if I could expand on it. I'm so glad you like it!!  
  
Prozac Addict - Yep, it's THAT Boshi twin. I've been a major FY fan for four years, thanks to my wonderful sister. In fact, even though it's slightly shallow, if it wasn't for FY, I would never have fallen in love with Japan, and I wouldn't be here right now. Anyways, Suboshi is a doll, in my eyes, and just for the record, I call my best friend Aniki, even though she's most definitely not my brother and she's younger than me. But she answers to it all the same. But I digress severely. I'm going to keep writing, so hopefully you'll keep enjoying.  
  
Elssha - Thanks a lot!! Did ya get your mail? Hope you like it, because chapter six is on the way!  
  
Neko kyo - Weee! Many thanks, my friend! And I got a 20/20 on my test! You're a good luck charm!!  
  
Saa, minna, mata aeru!!! ~ Shun-chan  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
" 


	6. Maigo No Romantisuto

I do not own them. I just spend too much money on their merchandise.  
  
~~  
  
Harry left Mrs. Figg's comfortable house with a heavy reluctance weighing upon his heart.  
  
He may not have been feeling better about his situation on the whole, but just being able to say those things aloud, albeit having been done in a slightly aggressive and angry manner, had cleared his mind. And she hadn't really told him those same words that everyone else had, all that "You'll be fine, you're Harry Potter, after all" way of thinking. While she didn't support his current state of mind, she was willing to give him time to rethink everything.  
  
After Harry's initial outburst, the two talked about many things, from Hogwarts all the way down to Quidditch and the current workings of the Ministry. Malfoy was not mentioned other than Mrs. Figg's short insistence that Harry not pester him. But, oh, Harry's shock over finding his babysitter was a witch, Mrs. Figg's surprise at discovering Hermione was no one's satin doll....the afternoon was over far too quickly, for sure.  
  
Yes, he would definitely be spending quite a good deal of time this summer at Arabella's house.  
  
**  
  
*Thank bloody MERLIN they're leaving before dinner....*  
  
Draco smiled didn't even pretend to smile as he waved mechanically at the departing car. *If they ever come back again, I'm smashing that bloody video system over their bloody heads!!*  
  
"Wow, that was so much fun!!" Dudley called from his position in front of the TV, from where he'd barely moved all day. "Can't wait for the next time, huh? There's a new video game coming out next week that I want!! They can all come back and we can have a video game Battle Royal! How about it, Drake?"  
  
Draco stared disbelievingly at Dudley. "Um.....I'm just going up to my room to get ready for dinner, now, how about you?"  
  
Dudley shrugged and went back to the TV. "Suit yourself. Sure you don't want a rematch?" He grabbed a video controller off the arm of the couch and waved it in what he assumed was an inviting manner. Draco just turned around and headed for the stairwell. *If he EVER calls me `Drake` again, it's the Avada for him, illegal or not.*  
  
Just as he jumped the first step, the front door opened a crack and a face framed by black hair peeked in. Draco knew secrecy when he saw it, and so...  
  
"He's back, finally!!" Draco shouted. Harry drew back, his eyes wide open. In the living room, Dudley jumped with a loud, "Who? Piers?"  
  
"Nah, just the servant boy."  
  
Draco went on in an undertone, grinning at the deep scowl on the discovered Harry's face. "You are so dead. If you ever leave me with Muggles like *that* again, I'll make sure that the first thing to go when I blow up the house is your beloved Firebolt. Then I'd like to see you beat me in Quidditch. By the way, we're still on for tonight." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
Harry nodded slightly, though still glowering both at Draco and at having been caught, then crept into the house and towards the kitchen where his assistance would most likely be required.  
  
**  
  
*`Assistance` my arse...* Harry was scrubbing away at bowl previously filled with dip, the fourth of its kind so far. Naturally, he wasn't assisting - Aunt Petunia sat at the kitchen table reading some fashion magazine, sipping from a wine cooler, and generally relaxing under the icy blast from the air conditioner. His stomach growled loudly - the pumpkin juice was all he'd consumed that afternoon?and washing platters and bowls once filled with food, yet still reeking of it, was not doing a body good.  
  
Without looking up from her questionable reading material, Petunia snorted, "Now, if you weren't lazy this afternoon, you would have been done with that already and would be cooking dinner for us. If either Duddydums or Draco get hungry before dinner is ready, you won't eat."  
  
Harry muttered mutinously, "What else is new, Captain Obvious?"  
  
Luckily, she didn't hear him. He hoped.  
  
**  
  
The book was an old one, for sure. Not many wizards of common blood would care for, nor be able to understand, its tales, but for a pureblood of a family intent on some sort of global domination, the tome was a godsend, passed down through the family's history, finally coming to rest in Draco's hands.  
  
He'd been very young when Lucius had presented him with this book. A stern expression on his face, Lucius had instructed him to study its contents, as his predecessors had done. This book was one of many that held the key to the Malfoys' success, a success that lay on Draco's shoulders to bear and pass on.  
  
Casually flipping the well-thumbed pages, silver eyes fell on the chapter devoted to aura, its history, properties, and of course how to detect it.  
  
One might be surprised to find aura only in Dark Arts books. The reason for this was so simple that it most certainly was below the thinking of one Hermione Granger, unless she'd already read the reason in another book.  
  
The ability to detect another's magical power, or *ki*, was essential in both the subterfuge and the spying, not to mention the fighting, of the wizarding world because the ability to sense where another was, or even your enemy, allowed the wizard in possession of such power direct advantage.  
  
Imagine a Wizard's Duel between the likes of two Albus Dumbledores. Their invisibility powers, if used, would render the other unable to know from which direction spells would come. Thus, the Albus Dumbledore with the ability to sense ki would most likely triumph, being able to feel where his opponent was.  
  
And so, the power had been labeled a Dark Art and was not to be taught at Hogwarts, lest the students use it to their advantage against such as Filch and his evil prowling fuzzball.  
  
Draco's knowledge of aura had been ingrained in his mind, and so it was for Harry's sake alone that he refreshed his memory, his measure of the Potter boy being good enough for Draco to realize that Harry would want to know more about the subject, not just how to pull off the actual stunt. After all, Harry did spend quite a bit of time in the library with the Mudblood Incarnate - he would most likely be used to getting the theory of what he was about to do, not just the magic.  
  
**  
  
And so the boys whiled away the hours till dinner - Draco reading, checking to make sure every once in a while that his door was still locked (he didn't trust these Muggle things at all); Harry cleaning and preparing food.  
  
Some sort of fish that Harry had found in the freezer, plus mixed vegetables and wild rice ended up as perfectly healthy meal. Shortly beforehand, Uncle Vernon had marched into the kitchen in high spirits after work - some new contract that he'd managed to get signed without his nephew botching up with a couple of house elves and owls. Dudley himself waddled in, plopped himself down at the table, and with a swish and flick, the TV was on. There was a short squabble as Vernon commanded that the news be put on, much to Dudley's dismay.  
  
Harry, having worked around Dudley to get the four place settings on the table, was just laying the platter of baked fish with herb seasoning on the table when Draco meandered in. Harry shot him quick glower before grabbing his own plate and sitting down on the kitchen stool by the sink to eat, having been exiled from the kitchen table since Malfoy's unexpected arrival.  
  
Dinner passed uneventfully...until *that* report came on. The news reporter's voice hardened.  
  
"An explosion rocked a small village in Wales in the early hours of the morning today. A house was destroyed, killing all of its sleeping inhabitants." The screen flashed, showing a scene of firemen battling with fierce flames. "The cause of the blast is unknown, although it is believed that fireworks may have exploded within the buildings." The scene of firemen moved upward to the area above house, where faintly sparkling green lights were still etched in the sky in the dim shape of -  
  
Harry and Draco choked. They shot each other worried glances as Aunt Petunia cooed over both the report and Draco's second choking spree in one day.  
  
*Voldemort.* Harry couldn't believe this - school hadn't been out a week yet, and Voldemort was already attacking. *How come I didn't feel anything last night? That attack must have happened around two in the morning...yet I was fine...*  
  
Utterly lost in thought and worry, he finished his small portion, and immediately began washing his dish and the pots. Eventually the other plates and bowls from the table ended up in the sink, and Harry found himself alone in the abandoned kitchen.  
  
**  
  
He stared out at the moon, gaze slightly hindered by his curtains billowing in the breeze. The moon was in its first phase, only the slimmest of crescents. Vaguely he wondered how Lupin was faring...in about two weeks it would be time for his change. He wondered where Sirius was...He wondered how Ron and Mione were doing - he had neither received nor sent letters...He wondered what Dumbledore was planning.....and what Voldemort was planning.  
  
His wondering was cut short when a swish announced the midnight arrival of his rival and now fellow prisoner, as he was beginning to think of Malfoy, never realizing how similar their thoughts were.  
  
There were no exchanges of "Hello" or "Are you ready to go?", just a nod, a broomstick being picked up from the bed, and two figures zooming silently out over Privet Drive.  
  
**  
  
Facing each other, the two boys sat in what they'd dubbed their clearing. It hadn't been disturbed since last night - the fruit basket was still lying at the edge of the small pool, the water itself still calm.  
  
"So...um," Draco wasn't sure what to say. *How do you teach some you hate? Is this how Severus feels every time he has Gryffindors in his class?*  
  
Harry rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Just get on with it, Malfoy. What's aura?"  
  
Regaining composure, Malfoy smirked. "It *is* a Dark Art, Potter, are you sure you want to learn it?"  
  
"Parseltongue is a Dark Art, Malfoy."  
  
"Got me there, Potter."  
  
"Just get on with it already! Stop being coy! Bloody what is aura?"  
  
"Ok, ok, calm down! Aura is ki, Potter!"  
  
"What kind of key? Key to what?"  
  
"Wrong ki, Potter. The *ki* I'm talking about it Japanese for *life force*. It's the power naturally in your body. It's partly what keeps you alive."  
  
"What does it do?"  
  
"It doesn't do anything in the sense you mean. It is our power. It's our stronger ki that makes us wizards. The ability to do magic is derived from our ki." Trying his best to be patient, Draco gave time for Harry to put some of this together himself.  
  
"So you're saying that if someone has a strong ki, they immediately become a wizard?" Harry was getting quite confused.  
  
"Not necessarily. Look at Longbottom. He's got a decent-sized ki, but he's nearly a Squib. Even some Muggles have stronger ki than normal. It usually makes them better leaders, even if their goals aren't the best. Ki is just power. We use our ki when we do our magic. The stronger the ki, the stronger the magic," he said, getting frustrated at Harry's slow understanding at the moment.  
  
Harry was actually not as lost as Draco assumed him to be. In truth, Harry was just thinking about the end of the Last Task, when Barty Crouch had taken him away from the Quidditch pitch...how Professors Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall had stunned Crouch...how Harry had sensed the power radiating off of Dumbledore...  
  
With new resolve, Harry asked, "How do you sense it? I've felt it before, I think, so I know I can do it, but I just don't know how."  
  
"You're not going to like it. Being able to sense ki starts with finding your own power. Meditation and concentration."  
  
Harry groaned.  
  
**  
  
It was black inside of his mind. He'd had know idea that one's subconscious was so deep - he'd never had the incentive to actually learn this art in Divination class, even though he was supposed to. Grumbling about Trelawney, he delved deeper.  
  
It was as if he'd turned a corner, or was a miner just discover gold - the blackness erupted into light, crimson laced with silver. *That's strange...crimson and silver?* His inner mind stared at the well bubbling there, this red mass forked by silver lightening. *This is my ki? My power?*  
  
A tendril of silver snaked up to him, not at all shy. Harry felt it connect briefly with what he called his "inner face", right where his scar would be. There was no pain, but rather a gentle warmth tickling his face, licking like an overenthusiastic puppy greeting his master.  
  
Suddenly, Harry flew backwards into the darkness and out again, opening his eyes to the clearing.  
  
Draco cocked his head with the question, "Well?" written all over his face.  
  
Harry spoke excitedly, "I saw it!! It touched me - is it supposed to do that? It's too cool...all crimson and silver!"  
  
"Red and silver? Not exactly what I expected."  
  
"You mean - every ki has a different color?"  
  
Draco gave Harry the clairvoyant-crystal-ball look again. "Each coloring is unique to the witch or wizard. I expected yours to be pure Gryffindor colors, you being the Golden Boy after all, all that Godric Gryffindor business from Second Year. The silver surprises me."  
  
The Gryffindor's face became impassive. Entertaining the idea of telling Malfoy that the Sorting Hat had wanted to put Harry in Slytherin was no easy decision. However, Malfoy cut off the need for further argument in Harry's brain on the subject.  
  
"Good enough for your first try. Not many wizards would be able to find their center that quickly, but you *are* Harry Potter, after all..."  
  
"Stop saying that."  
  
Harry's voice was little more than a whisper. "I'm not what everyone thinks I am. I want to be normal, Malfoy. Even now, I'm not learning this `aura` thing for myself....I'm learning it so I have a better chance of not disappointing the wizarding world. All those people looking to me, and what am I? I've *killed* before, Malfoy. And the world needs me to kill again. I don't know how you can call a person like me *Golden*."  
  
Malfoy felt his temper rise.  
  
"We look to you because you've got the power. You're being selfish now - there are plenty of people out there who'd kill to have what you have. You may not understand why you got stuck as number one on the Dark Lord's hit list, but you can't deny all those people out there what they want, Potter. Either shut up and fight whatever hopeless battle you have to, or watch as everyone dies sooner rather than later" The volume of his voice escalated as he spoke.  
  
What would you know, Malfoy? All you care about is Voldemort!" Harry shouted as well. "Not even four days ago, you stood in my compartment on the train, crowing with glee that Voldemort had risen again! And now you think you have the right to lecture me on the fact that I've got the whole world breathing down my neck, clamoring for me get rid of their nasty little nightmare? That just doesn't add up!"  
  
Both boys were standing by now, flushed from anger, bellowing for the night to hear them. Taking menacing paces towards each other, they continued.  
  
"You're so naïve, Potter! Do you think the world revolves around you and your happy little world? You're not the only one fighting! You're not the only one without parents! You're not the only one suffering just because of one bloody Dark Wizard!!"  
  
They faces were close together as they yelled, their angry words melding.  
  
"Just go back to your stupid Pureblood Manor and serve your precious Voldemort, Malfoy!"  
  
"Shut up, Potter!"  
  
"Make me," Harry hissed.  
  
It happened in a glimmer of pale moonlight on translucent hair. Draco had always left force to Crabbe and Goyle, but now Potter had insulted his honor, his family name, and everything that Draco stood for now, besides being just an insufferable Golden Prick. Without thinking, he'd launched forward, knocking Harry to the ground, ignoring the wounds on his back.  
  
Both boys grappled furiously on the grass, lost in the moment, only knowing that the most important thing was to do as much injury as possible to the other.  
  
Harry winced and spat out some blood when Malfoy's fist connected with his lip; Malfoy's pale hair was falling around his face, hiding the glaring blackened eye.  
  
Practically kneeling on the other boy's chest, Malfoy sent out a hand to the grass down the side of Harry's neck to steady himself before raising his remaining hand for a punch. Harry took the chance and slammed his head backwards onto the hand by his neck. Malfoy recoiled instantly in pain, pulling the wounded hand and Harry's head up. And then...  
  
Draco lost balance, falling forward to meet Harry's head.  
  
Their lips brushed softly for the merest of moments, but it was enough.  
  
They froze in the shock of the moment, held forever in time. It wasn't a kiss, as one would think. It didn't carry any meaning, nor did emotions pass through the two eyes staring wide-eyed at each other, emerald and silver.  
  
Something lurched in Harry's stomach. Was this-?  
  
And then it was over. Draco had broken the contact first, always the first to regain sense of self and reality. With a fleeting, startled, deer-in-the- headlights look at Harry, he jumped up and dashed for his broom.  
  
Harry didn't watch him go. He sat up, panting, staring at his hands. After the tell-tale whoosh of a Nimbus taking off, Harry moved towards the pool and gazed at his bruised reflection, blood still oozing sluggishly from his cut lip. The blood had been smeared slightly by Draco's salty light touch...Utterly disgusted with Malfoy, Harry leaned forward and dunked his entire head in the pool.  
  
**  
  
Draco flew at the most break-neck speed that his Nimbus offered, heading for whatever comfort being under the Muggle covers of a Muggle bed in a Muggle home could offer him. The wind played across his wet lips, provoking a tongue to swipe over them.  
  
And he tasted blood. Harry's blood.  
  
*What the hell happened?* One minute, they'd been in the middle of a verbal sparring match, the next trying to kill each other, and the last, they'd...they'd *kissed*. Kissed?  
  
And Draco had felt something. Something that wasn't right. And he knew Harry had felt it too.  
  
*Yes, I felt something. Revolt.* But he knew something wasn't right about that thought, either.  
  
He muttered darkly to himself, soaring through the air under the thin curve of the moon, all the way back to the Dursleys' house.  
  
**  
  
It was some time before Harry followed Draco, and it was at a much slower pace, to boot.  
  
After his little episode with Malfoy, after he had dunked his head in the pool, after he had cursed himself and Malfoy for everything that had happened, Harry had sat down on the grass and tried meditating again, just to be doing something that didn't involve thinking. Thinking led to traitorous thoughts about Malfoy and whatever had happened between them.  
  
He found the gittering ruby-red and silver much faster this time. Tentatively, he reached out an invisible inner finger, returning the gesture that the little silver piece had done earlier. This time, a myriad of silver strands rushed up to meet this so-called finger, and Harry calmed at their touch.  
  
Harry's subconscious began to ponder. When Dumbledore had burst down the door to Moody-Crouch's office, Harry could feel the power outside of Dumbledore's body, as if he'd brought the power out. Curious, Harry decided to try.  
  
Watching as the tendrils poked at his finger, Harry slowly let one or two curl around before closing a grasp on them. Carefully, he began to retreat from the well, drawing the silver stuff with him. It felt as though an eternity had passed before he opened his eyes, a warmth in his hands.  
  
Glancing down in amazement, he watched as silver lines of sheer ki twisted around his upturned, unclenched hands, playfully chasing each other. Reluctantly, Harry let his concentration lower, conscious of the beads of sweat dripping into his eyes, not to mention water from his wet hair. The threads encircling his hands faded, until Harry found himself staring at plain work-worn hands.  
  
If nothing else, Malfoy was a good teacher.  
  
**  
  
Harry floated above Four Privet Drive, not wanting to retire just yet.  
  
He'd have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow when both he and Draco came down for breakfast with a swollen lip and a black eye, and that was going to be the fuss without the reappearance of the fruit basket.  
  
Circling the house like a hawk, he noticed that Draco's window was still open. *Should I apologize? To a Malfoy?*  
  
Placing the decision firmly in the "Spur-of-the-Moment" category, the Gryffindor swooped in without invitation. Alighting in the room, he cast around in the dimness for his prey.  
  
Malfoy was fast asleep, chest rising in rhythm, looking extremely peaceful, yet more refined than the peacefulness usually whispered about over a sleeping child's head.  
  
Harry glowered. *Is he allowed to look so perfectly Pureblood and stuck-up even when he sleeps?*  
  
Harry watched as Malfoy heaved a sigh and rolled to his other side, leaving his back open.  
  
Through the thin white T-shirt, Harry could make out numerous patches. *What the-?*  
  
He reached out a hand and in what he termed a light manner, though it was more wistful, trailed a hand down the Slytherin's back, feeling the bandages. Malfoy let out a hiss of pain and opened his eyes.  
  
Seeing no one in front, he rolled over again, until Potter came into sight on the other side, backing away.  
  
They stared at each other, each lost for words. Harry stuttered, "What...wha-what happened?"  
  
Malfoy hissed vehemently, "Are you satisfied, Potter? You're not the only one who won't bow to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. This is why I'm here. You really want to pry?" Draco's eyes narrowed.  
  
Mute, Harry nodded and settled himself on the rug at the side of Draco's bed.  
  
~~  
  
Reviews are nice. So are all you people. I'm kinda sad that I can't please everybody, but if I could, then I'd be perfect and my name would be Draco Malfoy.  
  
Anyways, I may have chapter seven up sooner than I thought - I have a lot of free time now because I came down with appendicitis and may have to have an operation, thus I'm not allowed to go to school. Not good because end-of- year exams are two weeks away. Ugh, it can only happen once in your life and it had to happen to me while I was in Japan.  
  
Any way, most thanks coming out!!  
  
Zeynel: Ok, so there's not much slash in this chapter, sorry!! But it's definitely coming, I swear!! Chikau yo!! Keep reading!!  
  
Heather: I can't believe you find my story so nice!! It's a great feeling when I get such nice reviews! I'll continue to try my best!  
  
Schulyr: I updated as soon as possible. Ready to read more?  
  
Fanny Chan: *Takes a bow* Thank you, thank you, no applause, just throw paper airplanes made from Draco pictures!  
  
Miseryslilwench: I'm sure you're not the only one confuzzled by my blatant overuse of my Japanese skills in a rather boastful manner....the titles are in order, Let the Story Begin/ Let's Begin the Story, The Game Continues, No Way!!, Midnight Walk, A Little Depression, and The Lost Romantist  
  
Well, that's all for now. Jaa!! 


	7. Setsunakutemo Zutto

Malfoy hissed vehemently, "Are you satisfied, Potter? You're not the only one who won't bow to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. This is why I'm here. You really want to pry?" Draco's eyes narrowed.  
  
Mute, Harry nodded and settled himself on the rug at the side of Draco's bed.  
  
Draco resigned himself to explaining his tale, and so began. "I'm here," Draco began, carefully enunciating each word, "because I-  
  
A low hoot cut him off as Hedwig came flying into the room, a large note tied to her leg. The owl landed awkwardly on Harry's shoulder, slightly off- balance. Her master came to her rescue at once, swiftly removing her burden.  
  
Tearing off the seal, the elated Potter boy called joyously, "It's from Ron!"  
  
Looking less than enthusiastic was an understatement on Draco's part. "Ah, yes, perfect timing, Weasel."  
  
Harry shot him a nasty look before reading. Draco sat on his bed, head in his hands as he listened to the sound of paper rustling. Suddenly -  
  
"Oh, God..."  
  
Draco looked up, curious. "What? Did the Weasleys' house collapse finally or something?"  
  
Harry's over-bright eyes connected with Draco's, and this time he had no angry retort for the blonde's comment. "Remember that attack? From the news, I mean?"  
  
Draco groaned and went back to massaging his temples. "Who was it this time? Granger?"  
  
Harry scowled at what Draco's hopeful tone was implying, but he lowered his voice gravely. "The Finch-Fletchleys'."  
  
Draco was slightly confused. "You mean that Hufflepuff boy who was Petrified in Second Year?"  
  
Harry turned away and stared out the window. "Yes."  
  
"It didn't know you were friends with him. You're not exactly popular in Hufflepuff House, after all. Not after this last year. You've also got Ravenclaw against you. And Slytherin," he added as an afterthought.  
  
"You have no tact sometimes, did you know that?" Harry quipped, the pain in his chest now screaming to be released in another fight.  
  
"Sorry," came his soft reply. Harry's head whipped around, and he stared incredulously at the blonde.  
  
"What is wrong with you lately, Malfoy? You half act like a friend; you call me `Harry`; you try to teach me about something; you say `sorry`...." His voice took on a manic quality as it went on. Harry wanted to add *you kissed me* to the list, but it didn't seem like a good moment to bring that harsh memory up again.  
  
Draco responded with anger. "What's wrong with me, Potter? THIS is what's wrong with me!" He twisted his arm around and pointed at his back. "And if it wasn't for *you* and *Voldemort*, then this wouldn't have happened!!"  
  
"I don't even know what you're blaming me for - I don't know what I did! Would you care to enlighten me any time soon?" Harry shot back furiously.  
  
This time, Draco's head spun away. He was fighting with himself, wondering if telling Potter was the right thing to do.  
  
After an eternity, the Slytherin whispered, "I told you. You're not the only one who wouldn't bow to the Dark Lord."  
  
Harry's jaw fell open slightly before he egged Draco on. "You mean, you actually turned the Dark Lord down? Only you and your pride, Malfoy."  
  
"That's right, Potter, *pride*. The pride of being a Pureblood, a Malfoy, one of the most prestigious families in European wizarding history...the pride of being my own person."  
  
The boy sitting on the rug shook his head, mouthing wordlessly, and so Draco continued.  
  
"When my father found Crabbe, Goyle, and I, looking worse for wear outside your compartment on the train, he was not pleased. After reviving us to a lecture, he took us all to the Manor. This was unusual - he never takes Crabbe and Goyle home with us."  
  
He paused, and then went on in a slightly strangled, slow, yet penetrating voice. "It was a long night. We were told to freshen up and wait. Dinner was brought to us in my rooms by the house elves. And then at midnight, he came."  
  
In barely more than an entranced whisper, Harry said, "Voldemort."  
  
Nodding, Draco spoke once more. "Crabbe, Goyle, and I were presented to him. He's....repulsive, Potter. And his power - I'd never felt anything like it."  
  
"What happened?" There was an urgency in Harry's voice.  
  
"Goyle....Crabbe and Goyle took the Dark Mark. They are now to be spies at Hogwarts. And then Voldemort turned to me.  
  
He told me to hold out my arm, he told me it would hurt only a little, he told me I would be honored one day for going through with the blasted thing. If only I would serve him, body and soul, he said.  
  
I wouldn't. I'm no one's slave boy. Serving a thing like Voldemort is below the dignity of a Malfoy. I withdrew my arm. And then I told him everything I thought he was, all in the colorful Malfoy vocabulary. Ending with Mudblood."  
  
Sheer amazement was all that Harry could register at the moment. Malfoy? Deny Voldemort? *And call him a Mudblood to his face....*  
  
Draco heaved a sigh. "You probably wouldn't know how painful the Cruciatus it. But that wasn't all they used. I never knew Muggle weaponry worked that well." He gave a hollow laugh. "Lucius dragged me half-conscious back to my rooms, telling me that I had twenty-four hours to rethink my position before the Dark Lord returned and asked for my arm again - or whatever else he'd take as compensation for my foolishness.  
  
When the pain began to clear a little, or when it began to numb ( I don't remember which), I hauled arse and got out of there as soon as possible."  
  
"How'd you manage that? I mean, if you were so weak? And," Harry's face softened, "I do know about the Cruciatus. You not the only one Voldemort's used for a play toy."  
  
"So, you know Cruciatus? Heh, there goes the record I thought I held for being the first to be tortured by Voldemort. Oh well. You see, my godfather figured something like this would happen. He gave me a Portkey, one that was linked to his ki and would take me directly to him the minute I activated the spell. I packed all the stuff I needed and got the hell away from the Manor."  
  
"Who's your godfather?"  
  
Chuckling amusedly despite the tense atmosphere, Draco said, "You really need to ask?"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "It's Snape, isn't it? I - no, *everyone* should have known *that*. No wonder he favors you so much."  
  
Draco allowed himself a small, nostalgic smile. "It's good to be popular with Severus," he said, ignoring the gagging sounds that Harry was making. "I get extra points for my House that I don't need to work for, and when I have a headache, I get Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Works for me."  
  
The raven head bowed and muttered, "And I thought I was the only one who had an enemy godfather."  
  
"Huh?" The blonde was slightly perplexed. "You have a godfather? Why don't you live with him instead of these?" He waved a hand at the walls of the room, indicating the snoring Dursleys.  
  
Harry was surprised. "I thought you knew already! In Third Year...," he trailed off.  
  
Malfoy still hadn't caught on, so Harry finished, "Sirius Black. He was my father's best friend. And thanks to *Wormtail*"- he spat out the name like it was Skele-gro - "he's an innocent convicted murderer. The only good it does me is that the Dursleys are dead frightened of him. All I have to do is mention the word `godfather`, and they run into the cracks of the walls like the rats they are."  
  
"Why don't you use it all the time, then? You wouldn't be their little kitchen wench scrubbing like some pining Cinderella anymore."  
  
Glancing away, Harry said, "It gives me something to do, to take my mind off of...other things.  
  
Harry's tone was not one that said to deepen the subject, so Draco only said, "I only knew he'd been your parents' Secret Keeper. I didn't know how he was related to you."  
  
Looking down at the hands he was twisting in his lap, he said, "No one is supposed to know I'm here, Potter. When you write back to the Weasel, tell him nothing about me. Those were Dumbledore's orders, according to Severus."  
  
Harry nodded silently, and then picked up his broom and the disturbing letter as he stood. Hedwig, having perched on the knob of the bedstead, fluttered down and out the window.  
  
At the window, he paused, and let his impulse take over. "Malfoy, what are we? You and I, I mean..."  
  
Draco felt that lurch again as he looked up across the room into Harry's face, shadowed in the night's embrace, eyes unusually glittering, shadows dancing across his face.  
  
"I don't know, Potter." He stretched languorously, and rolled over, back facing Harry, not watching as Gryffindor's Beloved swept out into the darkness and to his own room. He didn't need to look, because that one prior glance would forever be engraved in his memory.  
  
**  
  
Sitting cross-legged on his still-made-up bed, Harry reopened the letter to read. No longer in the presence of the enigmatic Malfoy, he allowed what tears there were to prick his eyes.  
  
Hey mate!  
  
I'm kinda worried - you never take this long to write unless the Muggles put bars on your window. Are you sure you're OK? Listen, if you every need to talk, I'm sure Hedwig wouldn't mind. Nor would Pig, but I don't trust him. Mione said the same thing when I owled her. Talking, that is, not Pig.  
  
I don't want to leave this hanging over your head, but now for bad news. Voldemort's started again already. Fudge refuses to admit it, but photos don't lie. You probably didn't hear because you don't get the Prophet, but a Muggle family and their wizard son got hit last night. I wish I could tell you this to your face, but mate, Justin Finch-Fletchey is gone. His entire Muggle family, dead. Like I said, Fudge claims that the Muggle explanation of some sort of fireworks going off is true, but there were photos taken of the Dark Mark in the sky. Mum went hysterical, and Ginny's in a pretty bad state. Dad and Perce haven't come home from work, either. It's got everyone in a right flap, I can tell you. I just hope you're OK. Dumbledore is worried too - as soon as we found out, mum owled him to see if we could get you, but old Dumbledore flatly refused, saying you would be safer staying at the Muggles' for the rest of the summer. He said that yours wasn't the only life at stake. Probably just meant that he didn't want to put us in danger and make us Weasleys more of a target. Malfoy's right sometimes, the red hair is a bit of a give away.  
  
Send Hedwig back ASAP. Mum's got a food package all ready, and it's way too big for Pig. Harry, I'm always here, you know. The Burrow is just a couple of grates away by Floo Powder if you need us.  
  
Ron  
  
PS Fred and George told me to say "Thanks" again. What did you do this time? They won't tell me...  
  
Harry folded up the letter carefully. It hurt slightly to know that he wasn't allowed to leave the Dursleys' all summer, but it hurt less now that...he and Draco had talked. And at least owls were still allowed. Clambering over the side of the bed, Harry dove underneath and wrenched up the loose floorboard, laying the letter inside.  
  
Straightening up, he slouched over to his desk and began to write back to Ron.  
  
`Lo, Ron  
  
Thanks for the heads-up. We heard about the attack - it was on the Muggle news. We figured it was a wizard who got it, judging by the Dark Mark, but we didn't know who it could be. I wish I could send condolences, but Justin was Muggle-born, and I'm pretty positive any relatives wouldn't know what to do if a snowy owl turned up with a card. I just can't believe this is all really happening. It's hard for me. And if Voldemort keeps this up, we're going to have a tough time next year. Not just you, me, and Mione.  
  
Harry wanted to add Malfoy - the boy most certainly would find returning to the Slytherin Common Room a rough experience - but he'd sworn to secrecy. Twirling the quill between his fingers, he thought of what to say next. Nothing came to him. There was really nothing to tell Ron, really nothing he could tell Ron, not just about Malfoy, but about other things as well. Like the way he was feeling recently, how hopeless everything was looking.  
  
Sighing, Harry finished.  
  
Tell your mum thanks for the food - we're still holding to The Diet down here. And tell Fred and George that if they don't stop thanking me, I'm shoving a Bludger down each of their throats. Don't worry about me, I'm perfectly safe.  
  
Harry  
  
Perfectly safe...was flying nightly with Malfoy and getting into fist fights with the boy considered perfectly safe? Gingerly he poked at his still swollen lip. *Yes, there'll be a lot of explaining in* - Harry glanced at the clock, 4:27AM - *an hour and thirty three minutes.*  
  
He didn't realize the questions that would arise from referring to himself as "we" in description of the Muggle news.  
  
**  
  
When Draco had finally dragged himself into the kitchen around ten that morning with a black eye, there had been an immediate uproar as the Dursleys, Aunt Petunia in the lead, Dudley waddling in the rear, rushed to his side. Ice was provided faster than you could say, "Drakie-darling", and the blonde spent most of the day lounging on the couch, changing channels while flicking his wrist and holding an icepack to his face.  
  
He continuously told the Dursleys that he'd tripped that morning and hit his face on the bedpost, and Uncle Vernon immediately suggested removing the offending post with a number of handy tools. Luckily for the bedpost, Draco wasn't very angry at it, and insisted it was no cause for concern.  
  
No one had said anything about Harry's lip.  
  
Harry kept all these things bottle up inside as he worked tirelessly to make sure Draco was comfortable and the pillows were soft enough, that Draco had fresh ice, that Draco had enough food, that Draco wasn't thirsty...  
  
The Dursleys had retired early today, saying that taking care of Draco had left all of them sleepy. Aunt Petunia herself kissed Draco in a motherly fashion, brushing the blonde silk back from his forehead. It was her great luck that she had had her eyes closed, for she missed the expression on Draco's face that not even she could mistake for a look of tender adoration watered down by pain.  
  
At the moment, the boys sat facing each other once again by the banks of the pool. Their brooms lay forgotten some feet away, along with a refilled fruit basket.  
  
"So, ready to try again?" Malfoy asked casually. The light of the moon occasionally played across his face, flashing now and then as the building clouds wafted over the crescent. It was cooler tonight, and the haze around the moon spoke of impending rain.  
  
Hesitantly, Harry recalled what he had done the previous night. "I....I tried again last night. I brought the light out of myself. Held it in my hands," he finished awkwardly.  
  
Draco stared. "You did what?!"  
  
Obviously, Harry's answer wasn't a normal one. *How come everyone in the wizarding world knows my name, and I know nothing about the wizarding world?* This was quite clearly another one of those moments of ignorance. As Draco was still looking incredulous, Harry completely gave up.  
  
"Look, my name is Harry James Potter. And whether I like it or not, that means I do a lot of things that don't happen every day. You can close your mouth, or risk flies living in it and laying their eggs and their eggs hatching and lots of little baby flies living in your mouth and them laying eggs and -"  
  
"I get the point, Potter. No, it's NOT normal." He paused in thought and then asked, "Do you think you can do it again? Show me, I mean."  
  
Drawing in a deep breath, Harry replied, "Give me a minute, Malfoy. I don't know if it'll work again, though."  
  
Draco watched tensely as Harry closed his eyes in his attempt at relaxation. Minutes stretched on, neither teen moving, one breathing in rhythm, the other's breathing coming in ragged gasps with anticipation.  
  
It happened suddenly.  
  
Harry moved, his right hand raising slightly, a finger outstretching, and it was Draco's turn to draw in a deep breath. Around the finger, a tendril of silver light appeard, and then another. Harry's eyes had not yet opened, but his hand seemed to know exactly what to do. It clenched into a fist around the crackling threads of power, and drew it close to Harry's lap. Once there, the hand relaxed, the palm opened, and the light gently waved, standing on end in the raven haired boy's hand.  
  
Slowly, Harry's eyes opened, the silver threads throwing his eyes into beautiful relief. Draco's breathing hitched more so, though he chose to ignore the cause of it. Instead, he focused on the light now arching back and forth between Harry's open palms as the boy played with his power as if it were some Muggle slinky. *Playing* with his *power*. As he gazed, he noticed a red light beginning to gather around Harry's hands. This - this energy radiating from Harry's body!!  
  
"Potter, stop! You'll destroy the clearing and us if you don't put that away!" he shouted in a panicked voice.  
  
Harry looked up, bewildered, but the light raced back into his hands, leaving the two in darkness. "Why? What did I do?"  
  
Draco slumped backwards onto the grass, half in shock at watch he'd just seen, half in relief that the experience was over. He then began to laugh.  
  
It wasn't the sneering laugh that Harry was used to, nor was it the same laugh that Harry had heard the first night when Draco had stolen his dry clothes.  
  
This laugh was beautiful, melodic, falling pleasantly on Harry's ear. Entrancing, even. It rang of all the things that the well of red and silver power within him did.  
  
It was a laugh of hope.  
  
Cautiously, Harry crawled forward, leaning over Malfoy until he could see the other boy's face clearly. But it wasn't Malfoy he saw in the sparkling eyes. It was some other boy, not one that had tormented him for four years. It was not the boy that had punched him in the lip yesterday. It was not the boy who had angrily blamed all of his suffering on Harry.  
  
Draco looked up at Harry and said, "No wonder Voldemort still can't kill you. How many times has he tried already? That was amazing, Potter." He fell back into laughing, strands escaping from his hair and spreading over his face, which was pink from laughing.  
  
A slight smile graced Harry's lips. "Guess it's not just luck after all." Wistfully, he reached a hand down and brushed the hair off of Draco's face. Draco just laughed harder.  
  
"Don't go all sweet on me, Potter," he warned, a hand reaching up to playfully punch Harry's cheek.  
  
But the hand was not removed. It couldn't be, for Harry had placed one of his own on top. "No, I won't, Malfoy. I'd just like to say that it's all because I actually had a good teacher."  
  
And laughing himself, he rested his head on Malfoy's chest. "I'm totally worn out. That's pretty hard stuff, all that ki."  
  
"I'm not surprised. I've never heard of anyone who could completely take ki from within their own body and give it physical form, but," Chuckling, he said teasingly, "you are the great Harry Potter, after all."  
  
Harry didn't protest, but rather raised his head, letting his chin alone rest on Draco's chest as he gazed into his couch's silver orbs. "I didn't know you could laugh, Malfoy."  
  
"There's a lot about me you don't know Potter, and a lot you wouldn't care to know." Draco smirked, raising a delicate eyebrow in a manner that just dared Harry to ask.  
  
Harry did indeed take the bait. He repeated, "Would you care to enlighten me any time soon?" Both of Harry's eyebrows lifted questioningly, pleadingly.  
  
"Maybe. If you be a good Cinderella and fetch me a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, because I'm going to need it after all that you did tonight."  
  
Harry didn't know what made him do it. Maybe it was just Malfoy's voice, just his laugh, just the way his lips parted perfectly with that laugh.  
  
Draco didn't close his eyes right away, preferring to stare into the long blacks lashes framing Harry's closed eyes. This feeling...it wasn't like Pansy's lips at all. He could tell Harry had never kissed before, and the innocence of the thing made Draco smile against Harry's lips. Testing, Draco flicked out his tongue, tasting the salt on Harry's lips, still slightly swollen from last night's escapade.  
  
Panicking at the contact, Harry pulled away, face going extremely red. His eyes were open now, wide, embarrassed, but shining like a cat's at night. "I....I'm so-sorry."  
  
Malfoy just smirked again. Harry stared up as Draco casually picked himself off of the ground, dusting grass and dirt off his sweater, before offering a hand to the shell-shocked Harry.  
  
"My name is Draco Malfoy. I'll be living with you this summer, and I'm sure you won't mind having a Pureblood wizard of impeccable pedigree living in your lowly Muggle home."  
  
Realization hit Harry like a sack of cauldron cakes, but he knew how to keep his head when there was a need for quick thinking.  
  
Stretching out a hand, he said in a non-chalant voice, "I'm Harry Potter. Don't mind the scar, it just adds to my dashing good looks."  
  
Laughing, the odd pair, one of light, one of dark, took their brooms in hand and began a game of tag on their brooms.  
  
~~  
  
Ok, the ending - are they out of character? Ahhhh!!  
  
Okay, tomorrow I have to go to the doctor's about my appendicits, so I don't know when I'll be able to write chapter eight.  
  
And because I managed to find the time to write two chapters in one day, thanks ahead of time to all reviewers.  
  
Now, next chapter...the morning after the barriers fall, some more ki, and I think a visit to Mrs. Figg's...I'll see what my stomach stops killing me.  
  
Daisuki, minna!! Oyasumi nasai!! 


	8. Kotoba Ni Dekinai Koi

Well, Hey! Long time, no update. Sorry, but between being sick (which I'm fine now, yay, didn't need an operation), end-of-year-exams at school, and getting ready to move to a new host family in the next two weeks, I've been super busy. And here's the bad thing. With Rotary, you change host families every three months, and like I said, I'm moving soon. I should have a computer at my new house, but I don't know how my schedule with this family will be, so updating may become a problem. I'll keep you posted.  
  
WARNING: Look, this is slash. My summary says "slash". If you don't like slash, don't read it, and don't flame me for writing it. I don't have a problem with slash or its real-life counterpart, and if you flame me, you're just showing how close-minded you really are about the subject. Actually, if you flame me, I'll just laugh and keep writing.  
  
Sou da ne!! Everyone wants to know what the chapter titles are, since I blatantly show off my non-existant Japanese skills while writing this. Here they are:  
  
Let the Story Begin  
  
The Game Continues  
  
No Way!  
  
Midnight Walk  
  
A Little Depression  
  
The Lost Romantist  
  
Even If It Hurts...Always  
  
Love That Can't Be Put Into Words  
  
~~  
  
Grey was slowly melting into pink, brilliant stripes of orange highlighting the imminent approach of day. The building clouds of the previous night sat waiting menacingly on the horizon, drawing closer by the minute.  
  
Harry sat staring as the sun began to rise, his position on the sloping roof of Number Four allowing him the best view in Little Whinging. A thin mist lay over the crisscrossing roads, almost translucent in the pale light. Hesitantly, birdsong began to tremulously sound, delicate as the beams of light shooting from the east.  
  
Contented, though tired, Harry yawned and lay back, stretching to his fullest length on the brown rough shingles.?  
  
The telltale whoosh of a broom, plus light clunks as feet hit the roof, announced an intruder in his early sunshine paradise. A faint rustling of wickerwork against uneven wood, accompanied by muffled bumps, forced Harry's head to snap around, half in curiosity, half in annoyance, and he raised both eyebrows at the disturber of his peace.  
  
Draco Malfoy merely smirked at his companion's expression, and carried on filling the fruit basket with pilfered crab apples, taking them slowly from within the cup of his sweater.  
  
Exasperated, Harry called, "Malfoy, where the hell did you get those?"  
  
The thief's smirk only widened. "Off the neighbor's tree," he said casually.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes skyward and countered evenly, "Just for your information, in English we call that 'stealing'." He carefully accentuated each word as if talking to a four year old. "You do know that they're not really all that edible, don't you?"  
  
Draco didn't stop emptying his sweater of the small round fruits. Harry tried another method in an attempt to deter the other teenager.  
  
"Um, you do realize, don't you, that the Dursleys are definitely going to be sure that it was I who stole the basket again? You're just adding to my workload, there. Um, you could stop. Um...really now, the Dursley's are gonna kill me. Um... Malfoy?" Pride kept Harry from using the word 'Please' in his stuttered little plea for mercy.  
  
Malfoy chuckled to himself and whispered, "Why do you think I *haven't* stopped, Potter? It's funny watching you scurry around like a little house- elf." Chuckling slightly harder, he put on a high falsetto voice. "You is surely Harry Potter after all, sir. Watching famous scar-headed pricks wash dishes is fun, sir, it is."  
  
Massaging the bridge of his nose, Harry went back to staring at the now red sun as it began to creep higher into the sky. Not feeling like getting into another fight over either the fruit basket or the whole "Harry Potter" deal, he ignored the other boy, one who had finished replenishing the fruit basket with most likely wormy, rotten sour apples, one who was now settling himself with all the grace his exhausted limbs could muster next to Harry.  
  
Harry moved his hand down from its position just above the bridge of his glasses to cup his cheek and sat up, lost in thought.  
  
It had most definitely been a strange night...somewhere between the discovery of his power and the discovery of a new companion, and a couple of games of Quidditch apple-style as well, he had left his troubles in the back of his mind.  
  
For that, you see, was how Harry was thinking about Malfoy. He wasn't a friend, yet he was more or less so. Was he still a dangerous cunning enemy? To that, the answer quite clearly was "No". With trepidation, Harry had even pondered about whether Malfoy was to become a romantic venture, or even a relationship. But...that couldn't be, could it? Of course, that was even more of a "No" than the dangerous enemy bid.  
  
Shyly, almost, Harry surreptitiously glanced at the Slytherin beside him. The light of the rising sun suffused his normally pale face with a pinkish glow. His grey eyes, though one still looped by a faint greenish tinge from Harry's punch, were glowing like polished silver, and the rays of light dancing and glinting off his white-blonde locks gave the mirage of a halo, shining brightly.  
  
*Just like an angel from the old tales....* he mused. And he began to inexplicably laugh.  
  
Draco turned sharply to stare at the madly giggling Harry. Slightly disdainfully, as though he was one who disapproved of laughing, he muttered, "What's wrong with you, Potter?"  
  
Harry tried to take in a deep breath, failed, and snorted out, "Nothing, it's just something I thought about."  
  
Now curious, Malfoy queried, "Do you do this often? Just burst out laughing, I mean? St. Mungo's can take care of that, you know. Silencing charm would be nice, too. No wonder the Muggles think you belong in that St. Whatchamacallit, wherever the Land Whale told me they send you..."  
  
The Gryffindor just stuttered out, still snickering, "I thought for a moment that you looked like....like an angel or something, all the sun making you over-gelled hair glow like a halo.......and then I realized that it was *you* who looked like an angel, and that just sent me off because after all our years together, an angel is a thing you're farthest from in my mind, and it was just...." He continued rambling in this vein, occasionally pausing to giggle.  
  
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Harry, Draco was scrutinizing him carefully, ignoring the babbling that was half insult, half just babbling. Slowly, he broke in and said, "So, you were looking at me, were you?"  
  
The effects of this sentence were instantaneous. Harry choked to a halt and gazed open-mouthed at Malfoy, face reddening slightly when he realized just what he had been doing. There was no denying it. Malfoy had caught Harry checking him out.  
  
Smirk widening to the point that splashes of his perfect white teeth played through, Draco leaned in close to the very embarrassed Harry and whispered, "An angel, Potter?"  
  
The color drained slightly from Harry's face. Uncomfortable though he was with Draco that close to him, some courage and a sense of responsibility when it came to facing up to spontaneous actions and thoughts came flooding into him.  
  
"Yes," Harry himself whispered. "In body, but you're more of a....a luck dragon in personality, I think. Sorta."  
  
Draco's face, which had been slowly inching forward, paused, cocked to one side in confusion, and the parted lips said, "A what?"  
  
Heartily embarrassed, Harry explained, "Oh, just some Muggle literature, one of Dudley's old books in my room. There are no such things as luck dragons here. I think. They're not listed in 'Fantastic Beasts', at least."  
  
Once again, the Slytherin prompted, "What's a luck dragon?"  
  
"They're like dragons, and can be just as dangerous, except they don't have wings. They are able to fly because they breath air in through their scales, making them able to fly through the air like fish through sea. And they sing...They represent all that is good, joy, and hope."  
  
Draco snorted. "Why am I a luck dragon, then? Sounds a lot like an angel to me."  
  
The color mounted in Harry's face once more, and he muttered something quite inaudibly.  
  
With a quirked eyebrow, Draco said, "You're digging your own grave here, Potter." In an amused tone, he continued, "Pray do tell. I want to know why you think I'm a luck dragon. Just yesterday you gave me a black eye, and now you call me an angel and a luck dragon..."  
  
Heaving a heavy sigh, Harry repeated, "It was your laugh. When I pulled out my ki, you laughed. It was the first time I heard you laugh without some malicious intent hidden behind it. It sorta...caught me off-guard. That's all, Malfoy."  
  
Draco cocked his head to one side and let Harry's view wash over him. "Sentimental, Potter. Didn't know you were that sentimental. That will get you into major trouble one day. According to the Malfoy Family Handbook, chapter three."  
  
Harry glanced away, pained, and replied, "There's a lot about me you don't know, Malfoy, and a lot you wouldn't care to know."  
  
Gazing into the now over-bright sun burned Harry's eyes, or was it the embarrassment? Either way, he was shocked when a hand touched his face lightly. It traveled tenaciously up his jaw line, around the cheekbone, and pushed up a few stray raven locks, revealing the infamous scar. Shivering involuntarily, Harry turned to look now at the owner of the hand.  
  
Draco smirked and leaned in for a second time. Harry didn't protest, but rather just let his eyes flutter shut, leaning forward himself. Their breaths were melding into one, lips slightly parted, and-  
  
"HARRY POTTER!!!"  
  
Startled, Harry and Draco both jumped back from each other, skidding slightly over the shingles. Heads snapping around wildly for a sign of the shouter, they skittered uncoordinatedly over the roof on the way to the gutter.  
  
Muffled banging seemed to be filtering through Harry's open window, as well as Aunt Petunia's continued shrieks promising Harry great suffering should he not be down to cook breakfast in five minutes.  
  
The boys cowered on the roof, listening as the threats worsened should Harry's response to Aunt Petunia's demands not be heard.  
  
Panicked glances they flickered at each other, the face of each saying, *What happens if Aunt Petunia opens the door?* Without waiting for the other to respond, they scrambled for their respective brooms, Harry nose- diving off the roof first, Draco close behind with the fruit basket.  
  
**  
  
Harry landed, stumbling in his haste as he tossed the Firebolt under his bed (a bed that Harry was painfully aware looked unslept-in) and ran to the door, throwing it open just as his aunt was about to rain down more heavy blows upon it.  
  
Her features were still twisted with some unfathomable anger, but it was exchanged for disgust at the sight of her nephew. It was almost as if she'd been hoping he wouldn't answer simply so that she could carry out all the threats she'd made.  
  
Sneering in a manner that showed her buck teeth more than usual, her displeasure was given voice. "Finally decided to show your dreadfully scarred face, boy? You made me wait five minutes! Now, downstairs!"  
  
Heaving a sigh, Harry followed her till their paths parted, as Aunt Petunia veered off towards her bedroom, and the Gryffindor continued his lonely way down to the kitchen, footsteps echoing slightly. As he passed Draco's door, it opened wide enough for a hand to extend outwards, bearing the fruit basket.  
  
Shaking his head, Harry took the basket wordlessly and continued on till he reached the steps. Only the slightest click told him that Drakie-darling's door had closed.  
  
**  
  
Draco shut the door quietly so as not to arouse Aunt Petunia's attention. He then turned to the new matter at hand.  
  
On one of the bedposts, a horned owl was perched. It had been there when Draco swooped in the room not two minutes ago, preening itself in a dignified manner as it waited for Draco to remove the letter bound to its leg. The haughty, slightly disapproving look in its eyes told the addressee of the letter it bore that the owl had been there for some time.  
  
Draco had recognized the owl immediately - Severus had said he would keep in touch, for both of their comforts. It kept silent, aware of the secrecy of its mission, as Draco stepped forward and untied the small roll of parchment.  
  
Settling himself on the bed while the owl watched imperiously, the boy read the first words of his godfather's letter.  
  
~Draco,  
  
I hope this finds you well. The Muggles are entirely unreliable, judging by Potter's upbringing, but the promise of Galleons should keep them in their place. To business. I want you to send word that you'll stay away from Potter as often as possible - the boy has such a knack for attracting trouble, and I don't trust his ability at the moment of not dragging others into his problems as well.~  
  
Draco felt a strong surge of some emotion, though whether it was resent towards Snape for demanding that Draco stay away from Potter, or fear of Snape finding out what was going on between Draco and the hotheaded Harry, Draco did not know.  
  
Shouldn't he trust his godfather with these feelings? These feelings of....of...what were they anyway? Like, Love, and Lust all in one serving. The only missing ingredients were the little umbrella and the slice of lemon.  
  
Harry was the forbidden something Draco had always wanted. Oh, not always like *this*, per se, but Harry's charismatic persona had been enough to call Draco from nearly the beginning. Lucius' hand in the matter, his demands that Draco ensnare the Boy-Who-Lived at first, was not the only factor.  
  
But Harry's refusal on that first fateful day had cut him to the bone, as did Lucius' reprimand, and so Draco let his bitterness control his actions and speech. But now...shivering, Draco called forth the image of Harry's face, half shadowed, with emerald eyes glittering, the image from their first night out together. And their kiss...Draco wanted to taste those lips again. He *would* taste them again.  
  
But what was Harry's position in all of this? What if he didn't feel any - at this, Draco rolled his eyes at his own folly. Since when did the purest of the Pureblooded worry about something as trivial as that?  
  
Shaking himself, he resumed perusing Snape's letter.  
  
~Dumbledore is quite confident of his ability to keep both of you hidden, but remain wary. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is already looking for you, and one of the Hogwarts Muggle-born students has already perished at his hand, a Hufflepuff by the name of Finch-Fletchley. The Dark Lord is determined to find you, and Lucius' rage is not to be contended with. As it is, we are not receiving support from the Ministry; the Daily Prophet, though without that Skeeter woman's help, has been spreading rumor and fear everywhere; and much of Dumbledore's hopes have been placed in the Weasley clan's hands of all people, as well as some of his other useful spies. We can only hope that the Ministry doesn't get wind of your disappearance, but I'm sure the Dark Lord will see that they don't.  
  
Make sure Potter does not tell any of his little friends about your continued existence at his home, and try to keep most of your comments to yourself when under the eyes of the Muggles. You can always pay him back at school, when I will be by your side.  
  
Don't do anything foolish, Severus~  
  
Standing up wearily, Draco walked to his bureau and fished out some ink and parchment. Sleepiness bearing down on his thin frame, his skilled hand began to draft a response to Snape, promising good behavior, though not mentioning his past exploits with Potter, nor his lack of intent to put an end to those exploits.  
  
As he signed the parchment, Harry's words from that morning flitted into Draco's mind. Thoughtfully, with a slight smirk on his face, as a PS, the boy wrote simply, "I'll be an angel."  
  
Within moments, Snape's owl was soaring out of the window, and Draco was soaring into dreams in the bed.  
  
**  
  
He was late. Aunt Petunia nervously pursed her lips. Drakie-darling had never come down for breakfast, and noon was drawing closer, accompanied by worried thoughts on Petunia's part. Had he fallen ill? Had he simply stayed up late last night? Had her evilly abnormal and disturbed nephew done something to him?  
  
At this thought, she shot a nasty glance out through the kitchen window, watching her nephew water the plants, his skin growing ruddy, despite the clouds obscuring the sun, clouds promising more water than the rosebushes needed.  
  
Suddenly, a diversion in the form of a tired Malfoy made its way into the kitchen, stumbling slightly, one hand over its mouth, stifling a yawn.  
  
Utterly relieved, Aunt Petunia rushed to his side, crying in a gushy manner, "Good morning, sweetheart!! Oh, I was wondering when you'd come down! Just sit down in this nice comfy chair, and I'll get you some nice cereal for breakfast! Or would you like something for lunch instead?"  
  
Eyes popping slightly from her Mugglish maternal presence, Draco allowed himself to be steered into a chair, quietly saying that cereal would be just fine, thank you.  
  
Draco was almost finished with his sugary sweet breakfast when Gryffindor's Beloved walked into the house carrying a watering can, his face nearly as red as his scarlet Quidditch robes, having been working outside for a few hours.  
  
He stopped still when his eyes found Malfoy sitting silently, eating at the Dursleys' kitchen table as if it were quite natural to him. Harry was glad his face was already red - maybe Draco wouldn't notice the flush there now.  
  
Ever since their near-kiss at six that morning, Harry had been thinking about it. Only minutes before it had happened, Harry had put out that fire, claiming to himself that Draco was not one to become involved with romantically. And yet...something was there that hadn't been before.  
  
It was totally cliché, the story of the hero falling for his sworn enemy, so why was it happening to Harry? And did it *have* to be Malfoy? Well, considering his list of dangerous foes, maybe Malfoy wasn't such a bad option after all.  
  
Emptying the rest of the water from the can into the sink and beginning to scrub it out, Harry went over the list of things that had been most prominent in his mind all morning. A) Draco quite clearly, and proudly, was a Slytherin, B) his father was a Death Eater intent on Harry's destruction, C) he was nothing short of a git to Harry most of the time, and D) he was a *boy*, wasn't he?  
  
Harry had no problem with that last part, but it had never occurred to him before that he didn't mind either way. Slightly disconcerted, he rinsed the soap off the metal artifice, and was just about to go back outside when Aunt Petunia came in from the patio.  
  
"Good, you've finished," she said hurriedly, "The neighbors are having a garden party with relatives, until the rain starts, that is. The lawn looks decent, considering it was your work." The look on her face edged towards a disgusted expression. "I want you to either stay inside today or go find somewhere to play where you're not underfoot and where the neighbors can't see you."  
  
She marched back into the patio where she had a nice view of Next Door's back garden and sat down at the table, picking up a magazine and casually pretending to read it.  
  
Harry headed back to the sink to put the watering can in the cupboard underneath it, but was met half-way by Malfoy, bearing his cereal bowl and spoon.  
  
"So, where should we go play?" Draco said in a lazy voice that veiled the mischievous undertone of the question, as he leaned up against the sink counter.  
  
Hoping that his face was still red from the sun, Harry said tentatively, "*I* was going to go to see Mrs. Figg. Do you think you can keep that tongue of yours in check?"  
  
Delicate eyebrow lifted, Draco toned, "You don't trust me, Potter?"  
  
Harry simply rolled his eyes and jerked the cupboard open as wide as he could get it with Malfoy's leg in the way, shoving the can into it before grabbing Draco's breakfast things out of his hands to wash them.  
  
**  
  
The door opened a fraction, a blonde head poking out and checking that the cost was clear. The street in front of Number Four was devoid of Muggles, though voices were carrying from Next Door's backyard.  
  
Satisfied that no one would notice him, the teenager opened the door wide enough to allow himself to slip through, whereupon he resumed his normal nonchalant-with-a-hint-of-arrogance swagger down the walk, out the gate, and up the road.  
  
He stopped at the corner of Privet Drive and waited silently, glancing around suspiciously as if Aunt Petunia or some other Muggle were spying on him. The eerie quietness other than the faint voices from the garden party was unnerving.  
  
Only a few minutes had he been waiting when Number Four's front door opened again, this time revealing a black head, soon accompanied by a short lean body dressed in overlarge clothes. This boy, rather than take his time, ran the length of Privet Drive, bent forward as if making his body smaller than it was would limit the risk of being seen by the neighbors.  
  
"So nice of you to join me, Potter," Draco sneered delicately, mostly in jest.  
  
Together the two walked the few blocks to Mrs. Figg's without talking - each engrossed in their own thoughts, besides being victims to the oppressive heat that the clouds seemed to insulate.  
  
A strange sight greeted them when they reached her walk. Mrs. Figg was already standing outside looking somewhat cross, with one glaring cat in her arms and another sitting stiffly on the ground, its tail twitching impatiently and in annoyance.  
  
An enormous look of relief spread across her face at the sight of them. She strode forward from her position, beckoning the boys in. "I've been waiting for you. Hurry, inside, now, both of you!"  
  
Harry and Draco looked at each, curious, but followed nonetheless, walking carefully over the threshold into the house. Her mouth a thin line, Mrs. Figg snapped the door shut behind them all.  
  
The source of Arabella's annoyance became clear when it bowled Harry over onto the floor, black tail wagging overenthusiastically and pink tongue working overtime.  
  
Draco backed up, alarmed at the sight of Harry's predicament, but the enormous dog seemed in no rush to disentangle itself from its victim, and Harry himself was laughing, begging this so-called "Snuffles" to stop.  
  
Mrs. Figg was not amused - she clearly wasn't a dog enthusiast either. "That's enough now, *Snuffles*. I believe Harry would rather drink pumpkin juice than your disgusting slobber."  
  
The dog bounced its way off Harry and began to wind its way to the couch, but it paused when it passed Draco. It sniffed for a moment before its hackles raised and it began to growl rather sinisterly. Draco himself favored the brute with a haughty look, though he could feel that his eyes were wider than normal.  
  
To Draco's surprise, it was Harry that came to his rescue, laying a hand on Draco's arm and saying quietly to the dog in a comforting tone, "It's Ok, Snuffles, he's with me."  
  
Cocking its head to the side, the dog regarded the Malfoy boy almost imperiously before turning and jumping on the couch to settle down, disarranging the mismatched cushions in the process, much to Arabella's dismay.  
  
"No you don't, you flea-bitten mongrel!! Off!! OFF!!" she cried, shooing the beast away from her lace-covered couch.  
  
With a slight whine, the black dog dragged itself off the couch reluctantly and chose a spot on the floor instead. Harry smiled and took the dog's previous position on the couch, Draco following hesitantly.  
  
Arabella shot the dog a nasty look, but it was with a softer expression that she turned to both of her charges, old and new. Summoning a tray bearing glasses and pumpkin juice onto the coffee table, she began."  
  
"I've just received word from Dumbledore, via this beast." She jerked her head at the dog, whose head was currently in Harry's lap. "Dumbledore's trying to get everyone ready for whatever Voldemort is planning to do next. The Ministry is in shambles, no help there. Cornelius Fudge doesn't even realize he's consorting with Death Eaters in his own beloved office."  
  
Here Draco shifted guiltily in his seat, yet to the world around he simply glared, daring one of them to point out just who the Death Eaters at the Ministry might possibly be. No one said anything, so Mrs. Figg continued.  
  
"Dumbledore's getting a group of us together, trying to convince anyone he can of the truth. It's hard business - most are too comfortable with their lives to do anything about this. But people have started dying, disappearing...Fudge is going to have a field day covering this up."  
  
As she spoke, Harry felt as if a fist was closing slowly over his heart. War? Already? Cedric, Justin, and soon others?  
  
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry said, "What can I...*we* do?" He looked over to Draco for support. When Draco spoke, though, the response was far from what Harry expected.  
  
"I think we can start, Potter, by showing off what you've been practicing." Harry's eyes widened, and he looked at both Mrs. Figg and the dog in something reminiscent of fear and worry.  
  
Mrs. Figg's brows furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?"  
  
Draco smirked. "I've been teaching him Dark Arts, that's all."  
  
"YOU WHAT??!"  
  
The cry, much to Draco's surprise, came not from Arabella, but from a man who'd just appeared out of nowhere, a man bearing strange resemblance to the shaggy black dog, with his long dark hair and pale eyes. In fact, the dog had vanished completely. Draco's jaw dropped as he recognized that the wizard standing with his hand on Harry's shoulder, a manic, angry glint in his eyes, was none other than Sirius Black.  
  
Once again, Harry attempted to sooth his godfather. "Please, Sirius, it's not what you think, I-"  
  
Sirius burst out, "Do you realize what that could *lead* to, Harry? He's a *Malfoy*, he's not to be trusted, and he's already shown his true colors by dragging you into this!!"  
  
"Sirius, really, it's OK, let me show-"  
  
The Animagus ignored him and turned on Draco now. "How dare you?" Draco maintained a death glare, but this only seemed to make Sirius more vociferous. "You're lucky to be alive, you're lucky that people found enough goodness in their hearts to keep you safe, and this is how you-"  
  
"SIRIUS!!"  
  
Harry was breathing deeply, the effort of calming his godfather and keep calm himself beginning to strain his nerves. His shout had at least shocked Sirius enough that the older man paused in his tirade. Draco didn't know whether to keep glaring or to feel some sort of gratitude towards Harry.  
  
Arabella had remained silent the entire time, but now she spoke quietly. "What have you learned, Harry? What have you taught him, Malfoy?"  
  
Sirius bristled belligerently, half growling, but Harry, though grateful for his parental unit's concern on his behalf, adamantly believed that Sirius was over-reacting.  
  
In answer to Arabella's question, Harry whispered, "Ki. I learned about ki from....from Draco. If you both give me a minute, I'll show you."  
  
"Old magic, I see," Mrs. Figg said slowly. "Very well. Show us."  
  
"No! It's Dark Magic! He shouldn't be tampering with it!" Sirius hissed. But it was too late. Arabella held a finger to her lips and pointed at Harry, who had ignored his godfather and gone into meditation mode without much ado.  
  
Fuming, Sirius joined Arabella and Draco as they watched Harry expectantly.  
  
It was much the same as the first time Draco watched Harry release his power. Harry's face maintained some sort of calm, yet his hands moved accordingly to the process of drawing out the ki. One hand raised, two fingers extended, and Draco heard both Mrs. Figg and Black gasp as a delicate thread of silver appeared, wriggling like an inchworm over Harry's hand.  
  
The hand now twisted to grasp the little threads, more appearing as the hand drew the light down into Harry's lap. The emerald eyes opened slowly, and looked first for approval in the pale eyes of Sirius.  
  
Sirius' eyes bore no sign of approval, rather just stunned disbelief. Arabella was much the same. Swallowing his disappointment, Harry lowered his eyes to look at his power, all silver slivers with a tracy of crimson clinging to them.  
  
Suddenly, Draco's hand shot out convulsively, grabbing Harry's arm, and Harry looked up, startled. Draco's silver eyes were wide, and Harry could tell that these red-and-silver lights in his hand were releasing more power than they should.  
  
With a small sigh, Harry let go of the little concentration that had been keeping the ki in place, and watched as they zoomed away into Harry's hands like water down a drain.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered,not looking up, "I know it's not normal. I don't know why I can do it. I just....I asked Mal-Draco how you can tell whether someone is Pureblooded or Muggle-born, and this is what it led to."  
  
Once again, Sirius' hand gripped Harry's shoulder, and the other hand forced Harry's head to look up. And at long last, he spoke.  
  
"Don't be sorry, Harry. But you must display great caution when experimenting with your power."  
  
Harry began to protest, but Sirius cut him off. "I know what you're thinking. Yes, we Marauders all got carried away we our own experimenting, ending up as Animagi. But this is different - this is raw magic, the magic needed for not only feats like wandless magic, but for true Dark Arts. This is dangerous, Harry"  
  
This time Draco protested, standing up and shouting, "So you're going to make him stop? Now that he's found that source of power, he needs to learn to control it, Black! With that power developed, imagine what he could do against Voldemort!"  
  
Sirius rounded on Draco, but Arabella, a quelling expression on her face, got there first. "I must ask BOTH of you to desist!" Drawing in a sharp breath, she said, "Both of you are right, and both of you are wrong. This is dangerous, and the things it could lead to...but it will lead to far worse things if not kept in check. We should supervise this, at the least. Practice sessions, reading material...and we should tell Dumbledore." Her tone was final.  
  
Sirius, slightly abashed, turned to stare at Harry. Finally, he choked out, "All right. But he's got to be careful. If the Ministry gets wind of this, or worse, Voldemort...they need to be careful. Very careful," he added, scowling at Draco.  
  
Draco was still glowering, but he resumed his seat. "Very well."  
  
**  
  
At the first sign of rain, Arabella sent the boys off, not wanting them to be caught in the downpour. They walked, once more enveloped in a silence broken only by the sound of the swelling rain. However, their footsteps led them not home.  
  
Draco looked up when his shoe touched not cement, but woodchips. Harry had taken them to a playground, deserted because of the rain. He looked quizzically at the raven-headed boy, only to see Harry smiling the same demented smile he had on their first escapade. Without warning, Harry ran to one of the swings, leaving Draco quite confused and standing alone in the pouring rain. It was only when Harry waved to him, laughing, that the Slytherin stepped forward and headed to a swing next to Harry.  
  
The two engaged in battle, seeing how high each could go on the swings, how high they could climb on the jungle gym, how fast they could go down the slippery soaked slide, lost in their world of soaring swings, pounding rain, and laughter at the situation: two boys, once enemies; two boys, always rivals; two boys, something new.  
  
It was sometime later that the stopped, resting at the top of the jungle gym dome, sitting back to back. Harry broke the silence.  
  
"What happened to us, Malfoy?"  
  
Draco's insides squirmed. *Why does Potter have to be so brave about these things?* "I don't know, Potter."  
  
"That's what you said a few nights ago, Malfoy," Harry said quietly.  
  
Draco sat forward and turned around, causing Harry to slip a little on the metal meshwork as he turned to look at Draco himself. Draco said angrily, "That's because I *don't* know, Potter!"  
  
They stared at each other, rain streaming down their faces. Draco's normally slick hair was framing his face, and Harry's tangled mess was curling. Their eyes were on fire, glowing like jewels. And Draco spoke once more, quietly, though his voice was full of emotion that Harry had never heard there before.  
  
"All I know is that we don't have a lot of time on this planet, and you and I especially seem screwed, so we've just got to do whatever the moment says."  
  
Before Harry could protest, one of Draco's hands had left the jungle gym to entwine itselft in Harry's hair, and their lips were together. They sat precariously on the uppermost part of the dome, leaning into each other. This time, Harry didn't break away when Draco's tongue invaded his mouth, and the two simply sat, tasting and exploring. Harry's own hands left the metal, one resting on Draco's chest, the other stroking Draco's face.  
  
Neither of them noticed the black dog watching silently from the entrance of the grounds, and most certainly didn't notice when it turned and walked away just as silently.  
  
~~  
  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed!! Sorry this chapter is so long! 


	9. Yamerarenai

Ok, any anime fans out there? Never join a kendou club, and then take two months off because of injury. It hurts like hell when you start again!! Since I can't move my legs nor can I move my arms, I've taken over the family computer (quick fingers) and here's the result! Spoiler - angstyish at the end. Not really - I'm not good with angst. And Ron and Mione come in, for those who like them!  
  
WARNING: S-L-A-S-H spells *slash*.  
  
And I really truly absitively posilutely don't own them! I just..."borrow" them.  
  
Chapter Title - Yamerarenai (Unstoppable)  
  
~~  
  
He smiled and embraced her, thankful to see her whole and hale.  
  
The past three weeks had been stressful on the Weasley family, as news articles in the Daily Prophet and reports on the Wizarding Wireless were now fearful and increasing towards panicky. Muggles and wizards alike were randomly disappearing, whether by foul play or by being enlisted in the Dark Lord's service, and no one could yet forget the image of the Dark Mark glittering maliciously over the house of Justin Finch-Fletchley three weeks ago.  
  
Having gathered this from her own copy of the Daily Prophet and from her own rather vast knowledge about the Weasley family, Hermione beamed in love and appreciation at the flamed-haired Ron and the equally red-headed Weasleys standing around him - Molly, Ginny, Fred, and George - before turning to say one last goodbye to her parents as they all stood waiting in King's Cross Station.  
  
Her parents hugged her to them, tears shining unchecked in Mrs. Granger's eyes, but they knew that this was for the best - Hermione would be much safer, much more protected, in the Weasley's care.  
  
"Be careful, Princess. Don't worry about us, everything will be fine," Mrs. Granger cooed, strengthening her grasp on her daughter.  
  
"Send letters, all the time. We'll write back, and maybe sometimes you can call us, all right, Princess? Just take care of yourself." Mr. Granger then turned to Molly Weasley. "Thank you so much for all of this, Mrs. Weasley. I don't...I just don't know how we can repay you."  
  
"Oh, it's nothing, really, dear! Hermione is always such a pleasure to have at the house, and I'm sure," she continued, turning to scowl at her gaggle of children, "That her presence will at least encourage my lot to study a little more, get their homework done...."  
  
Hermione broke away from her mother's embrace to laugh at the disgust scrawled all over the Weasley children's faces. With a last kiss on her mother's cheek, she picked up Crookshanks' basket and went to stand next to Ron, who already had her trunk on a trolley.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Granger, holding each other for support as they said their farewells to their only daughter and her friends, left with a last smile and wave to catch a return train while the Weasleys went outside to find a taxi.  
  
Ron, leaning casually on the trolley, turned to Hermione as Mrs. Weasley waved her arm frantically to get the attention of a cab. "Princess?" **  
  
Ginny sat on Ron's brilliantly orange bed, petting Crookshanks' upturned belly, listening as Hermione and Ron discussed Harry in tense whispers.  
  
"I told you, Mione, I haven't heard from him except once. Hedwig turned up almost three weeks ago with his response, and it sounded....*weird*. It didn't sound like him. I sent Hedwig back with the food mum had gotten ready for him, and he hasn't written back or anything, not even a thank- you."  
  
"What exactly did he say in the letter he did send? What was so odd about it, Ron?"  
  
Ron pulled the letter out from his bedside drawer. "Well, it's not weird, exactly, but, like, here, look! He says 'we' about the Dark Mark. Surely his aunt and uncle wouldn't care if a wizard got it? They aren't exactly fond of us, so why would they be concerned?"  
  
"They don't necessarily have to have been concerned, Ron, but they would notice something like that. They do, after all, know that our kind exists." Hermione said sensibly.  
  
"Then what about this part, Mione? How he says we're not the only ones who'll be in trouble next year? I'm telling you, he's hiding something!" Ron shot back while waving the letter furiously.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "What could he possibly be hiding? Of course other people are going to be in trouble and upset next year! Just imagine Justin's friends - he's the second Hufflepuff to be killed already! And I'm sure that at the rate things are going already, he's not going to be the only Hogwarts student missing!"  
  
"But Mione-"  
  
"Look, Ron, maybe he is hiding things. Maybe he is depressed over Cedric's death. But all we can do is let him know that we're there for him. Did you even tell him that I was coming?"  
  
"No, I haven't written to him - if he wants to be quiet, I didn't want to aggravate him," Ron said sulkily. "Besides, your being here is supposed to be secret, although I guess telling Harry isn't out of the question."  
  
Hermione sat down on the bed, Crookshanks stretched out between herself and Ginny.  
  
The now-fourteen-year-old Ginny looked slightly worried by all that had been brought forward, but said quietly, "I don't know if you should tell Harry. Hermione's a major target, because she's Muggle-born, and because she's Harry's friend, and that's why she's here. If you're worried about him being depressed over Cedric or something, do you really want that hanging over his head as well? Or even if you do tell him, what if the owl gets intercepted? Then people would know where Hermione's disappeared to."  
  
Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous looks. Ginny was right, actually. What if someone did find out that Hermione was at the Weasleys' for the summer? The Weasleys were already under pressure, with their positions in the Ministry and their place in Dumbledore's network. Taking in Hermione was placing them in even greater danger. They couldn't risk putting that in writing. Unless...  
  
"We could call, Ron. I've got his number listed down, and we can call him."  
  
Ron grimaced. "The only time I ever did that, I got him in major trouble. Are you sure it'll work?"  
  
Hermione gave him a please-do-notice-who-you're-talking-to look and said, "So, where's the nearest telephone?"  
  
**  
  
"Oh Brad, are you sure about this? Will you really be with me forever?"  
  
"Of course, Clarice. Jennie will never come between us again, I swear."  
  
"Then kiss me, love, and prove it to me...."  
  
Draco yawned and changed the channel. These soap operas were just so annoying, all gushy love stories with only a tiny hint of Muggle mayhem, and that's all that ever seemed to be on during weekday afternoons.  
  
Petunia swept into the living room with a plate of sliced oranges and a glass of lemonade, setting it on the coffee table in front of Draco. He smiled a sort of wobbly smirk at her, having gotten used to her obsession with him over the past three weeks since he'd arrived. Calmly, he reached for an orange, watching as she made her way back into the kitchen.  
  
Glancing out the kitchen window, Draco could just make out a messy black head moving in and out of view as Harry mowed the lawn. His smirk widened as he gazed at the head of his...whatever-Potter-was-in-relation-to-him as it bobbed around the Dursley's backyard. Oh, he loved not having to work while Potter was!  
  
Sipping the lemonade with the grace of a demigod, he went back to watching TV, though his mind was more fixed on the boy outside.  
  
**  
  
Pausing in his work to brush the mop of hair out of his eyes and off his glasses where it was plastered by sweat, Harry leaned over the lawnmower, wishing dearly the Dursleys' front and back lawns were large enough to warrant the use of one of those motorized mowers with the chairs. However, he supposed that even if the Dursleys did buy one of those, they wouldn't let Harry near it.  
  
Taking off his glasses, Harry began to rub his eyes. Besides his nightly forays with Draco, he was visiting Mrs. Figg whenever he had spare time so she could watch him work with his power, and that was leaving him extremely tired.  
  
At first Sirius had been there overseeing his progress, strangely silent (though Harry supposed this must have to do with his reluctance to let Harry study anything labeled a Dark Art). But Dumbledore's mission kept him on the run, so he had departed to alert everyone and anyone he could.  
  
Occasionally Draco came with him to Mrs. Figg's, which for some reason made Harry feel better about the whole thing - quite apart from the fact that Harry was growing rather attached to his...his...what was Draco in relation to him anyway?  
  
Just thinking the word "boyfriend" caused Harry to shake his head. Really, what had happened to them? Four weeks ago, they wouldn't have touched the other with a chain-length of broomsticks. And now, the only thing that kept them from being together for a large percentage of the time was the omnipresent Petunia.  
  
It was as he was shaking his head that he heard it - the little voice.  
  
"Scar-headed brat, always cutting the grass when I'm trying to sunbathe, covering my hole with nasty grass shavings. Humans are so senseless, inconsiderate...spawn of the earth...bite them, scare them, wriggle across their feet...."  
  
Harry looked downward to see a small black grass snake slithering through the verge towards him. Letting go of the lawnmower, he knelt down and quietly whispered in his second language, "Hello."  
  
The snake stopped only a few centimeters away from Harry's right foot. It raised its head, scrutinizing the face of the owner of the feet it wanted to savage. "It speaks Parseltongue, the scar-headed brat."  
  
Harry smiled a little and hissed, "Yes, I do." He paused. "I'm sorry I disturbed your sunbathing. My aunt wants me to mow the lawn - I didn't mean for you to get upset. Will you show me where your hole is so that I can clear the grass from it?"  
  
The snake turned itself around and cut a path through the grass towards the wall of the backyard. "This way, Scar-headed Brat."  
  
Laughing, Harry said, "My name is Harry, by the way."  
  
"Sounds the same as Scar-headed Brat."  
  
**  
  
These cartoons from Japan were pretty cool, he had to admit. Magic, fighting, just enough blood - perfect.  
  
Draco was still watching TV when the phone rang. He heard Aunt Petunia pick up in the kitchen.  
  
"Petunia Dursley speaking. May I ask who this is?"  
  
Leaning on the couch so that he could see into the kitchen (Draco had never touched the telephone yet, and was keen to watch when someone was using it - though he made sure no one ever caught him watching, especially Harry), Draco saw Petunia's brow knit together in confusion. "You'd like to speak to...to Harry?" There was silence, and then she said, "I see. Let me call him."  
  
Draco jumped up. "I'll go, Aunt Petunia. It's too hot outside - I don't want you getting sick or anything." He practically ran into the kitchen and out the door into the backyard.  
  
The lawnmower was standing abandoned near the center of the yard, and Harry was to be seen crouched in a corner by the wall, muttering to himself. It was as Draco got closer that he caught a few words of what Harry was saying, and he realized he couldn't understand an ounce of it.  
  
Draco watched interestedly as Harry brushed bits of cut grass away from the corner of the wall. And then, he saw the snake as it raised its head high enough that its forked tongue was able to flick out over Harry's knee in a sort of serpentine kiss. Draco chuckled, and Harry turned around in surprise, but he's eyes glowed brightly when recognition clicked in.  
  
"Tell it that it needs my permission if it's going to do that again, Potter," Draco said slyly. Harry smiled and whispered something to the snake, which hissed before it turned and slid into its hole.  
  
"What did it say?" Draco asked.  
  
"Well, Mr. Possessive Prat, *she* said that if you threatened her again she'd do something with your broomstick not intended to be done by the manufacturers."  
  
Smiling, Draco said, "Ah, a bold threat from a tiny garden snake. Anyways, I came to tell you that you've got a phone call. Hurry up, they're waiting for you."  
  
Thoroughly confused, Harry followed Draco into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia scowled at him and pointed towards the phone. "You met a girl at the park yesterday? That's what she said. Who'd want to talk to you?"  
  
After saying that, she stalked back out to the patio. Draco took her seat at the kitchen table.  
  
Not having a clue what Aunt Petunia was talking about, Harry picked up the phone cautiously. "Hello?"  
  
Even Draco heard Hermione squeal, "HARRY!!" with the force and decibel volume of a Howler. Harry quite clearly heard the whispered curse of "Mudblood", but was more concerned with talking to Hermione than he was with teaching Draco proper behavior.  
  
"What - how...Mione, it's great to hear from you! What have you been up to?"  
  
It was then that Harry heard Ron's voice in the background, saying something in an anxious tone. Hermione ignored him and said, "Oh, Harry, we've been so worried about you! You haven't written to us or anything! Are you all right? And who's there with you? Someone said something to your aunt before you got on, and it didn't sound like your cousin."  
  
Harry nervously glanced at Draco, mouthing, "She suspects!" Draco began to scowl.  
  
In answer to Hermione's question, he said, "Oh, that really was just my cousin. No problems here. And don't worry, I'm totally fine. What're you doing at Ron's? You-nothing's happened to your family, has it?"  
  
Hermione's voice became serious. "That's what we called to tell you. I'm staying at the Weasleys' at Professor Dumbledore's insistence. He thinks....oh, Harry, he thinks I'm a major target because I'm your friend, so he wanted me somewhere safe."  
  
Harry felt something cold slip into his stomach. Hermione was in danger, not only because she was Muggle-born...she was in danger because of him. Trying to keep his fear and anxiety out of his voice, Harry said, "What about going to Bulgaria? And why didn't you send Pig?"  
  
"We didn't want to owl you, in case the letter was intercepted, and this was the only way I could think of talking to you. I told your aunt that we had met in the park yesterday, just so you know. You can pretend I'm your girlfriend for the summer, so Ron and I can keep in touch with you."  
  
In the background, Harry heard Ron make some noise of protest, but Hermione silenced him with a "Shhh!"  
  
"And about Bulgaria...I'd been too much in the open, wouldn't I, living in the house of a famous Quidditch player"  
  
Personally, Harry could tell that Hermione wasn't being entirely truthful about her staying away from Krum. However, he also felt that Draco was going to be pissed finding out that Hermione was going to be his girlfriend for the summer. He glanced at the object of his thoughts and smiled weakly. Slytherin's Pride had not stopped scowling. Suddenly, Hermione called him back.  
  
"Harry? I...we just want to know if you're Ok. I-Ron!"  
  
Ron's voice took full supremacy over the speaker with a yelled "I know what I'm doing, Mione!" before it lowered and said to Harry, "Mate, listen, we're worried about you. You haven't written at all, and with all this You- Know-Who stuff, we're wondering what's up. Are you sure you're safe? If you want, you can always come here, really. Ginny wouldn't mind, she's loads better lately!"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Harry tried to calm his friend down. "Ron, really, it's Ok. I told you, I've got more than enough protection, and there are people around who care. I've even seen Snuffles - he checks in on me every once in a while. And while I'm sorry that I can't impress Ginny with my wonderful persona, tell her I said 'Hi'."  
  
Unbeknownst to Harry, Draco's scowl had just deepened.  
  
In what he hoped was a convincing, puppy-dog voice, Ron said, "Are you sure you won't come?"  
  
"Dumbledore has his reasons for keeping me here, and I don't see any reason to not trust his judgment. I'm actually perfectly happy right now. Really, I am," he said forcibly as Ron began to protest.  
  
Hermione's voice took charge once again. "Are you sure, Harry?"  
  
"Very sure, sweetheart," he teased. Draco hissed warningly, and Harry turned to smirk at him.  
  
"Hate to tell ya, Mione, but I've gotta get back to the lawn I was mowing, and to Moemi."  
  
"Who?" Hermione paused for a minute, and then said slowly, "Oh, I see, Harry - you...you really are seeing someone! You've got a GIRLFRIEND!" she called shrilly. There was some muffled exclamation from Ron in the background, and Harry distinctly heard Draco choke somewhere behind him.  
  
Harry just laughed at the humor of the situation and said, "Maybe. But no, Moemi is the garden snake I was just talking to when you called."  
  
"All right, Harry, keep your secrets, and keep in touch. You can owl us, but just don't mention my name in the letter. Call me...Bubbles, or something, like we do for Snuffles," Hermione said, sounding slightly skeptical of her own idea.  
  
"Sure thing, Bubbles," Harry teased. With a last goodbye to both of his best friends, he hung up the phone and turned to Draco.  
  
His mouth was opening, ready to berate Harry, when Aunt Petunia came in from the patio. Disdainfully, she said, "Who was that?"  
  
Winking at Draco, and smirking still, Harry said cheerfully, "Oh, that was just my girlfriend, Bubbles. She told you, we met at the park yesterday."  
  
Aunt Petunia's mouth was open in disbelief. Obviously, she had never considered what would happen should her nephew choose to procreate, and the fact that he was already getting girlfriends while he was still living in her house was not comfortable - and that was besides what would happen if this....this slut (as she must be if she was interested in the boy) of a girl, Bubbles or whatever, found out what Harry was, and told the neighbors, and what the neighbors would say...  
  
Harry, not noticing the battle being fought in Aunt Petunia's mind, strolled to the door and went back to mowing the lawn, careful to avoid Moemi's hole.  
  
**  
  
Hermione and Ron walked together up the road from the village post office.  
  
"Do you believe him?" Ron said quietly.  
  
"I don't know, Ron, I really don't know."  
  
"What should we do? Kidnap him or something?" he joked.  
  
Hermione glowered at her friend. "That's not funny, Ron! We...there's nothing for us to do but to trust him."  
  
"Well, he isn't alone, if Black has been checking in on him. And, damn it, he got a girlfriend before me!" Ron snarled, kicking a small stone out of his path like a football.  
  
Hermione shot Ron a look of pure frustration, but after counting to ten and rolling her eyes, she said, "Yes, yes, maybe he has...but he's still...oh, you were right for once, he is hiding something."  
  
"Hey!" Ron said indignantly, but he quieted when Hermione slipped her hand into his with a squeeze and began to pull him up the road.  
  
"Come on, we've got to tell your mother and Ginny that he's all right."  
  
"But he's not all right, Mione! We...we have to form a rescue party or something!"  
  
"Ron, there's nothing we can do without Dumbledore's permission! We just have to trust him, and stay safe ourselves. Come on, we can send Pig to him now!"  
  
She broke into a run, dragging the much taller red-head behind her up the dusty dirt road towards the Burrow.  
  
**  
  
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. How could he have lied to Ron and Hermione? He had no problem lying to Aunt Petunia about his so-called little girlfriend Bubbles, but...this was different. They were his best friends, and he couldn't tell them anything.  
  
Harry took off his glasses and bent over the bathroom sink, splashing water over his face. What had he been thinking? And the worst part was that...he hadn't felt guilty over the phone - the lying bit came almost naturally then. It was now, now that it was later, that his misgivings were settling in. The water gently running down his face and onto his neck wasn't helping to wash these feelings away at all.  
  
And Hermione...it was all his fault. She'd been forced to go into hiding, all because of Harry. And yet, she'd sounded so happy. How could she not care that she was in danger? She'd been more concerned about Harry than about her own life.  
  
He heard the door open and shut, the lock clicking, and when he looked up, he could see in the mirror the blurry form of a thin blonde boy standing behind him.  
  
"What was that little phone call about, Potter? Bubbles, you say?"  
  
Elbows resting on the sink, Harry let his face sink into his hands with a groan. "Mione's in danger, Draco, because of me. Dumbledore sent her to live with the Weasleys."  
  
"And since when is she your girlfriend? Oh, wait, that's right, you were sharing her with Krum!" Draco said angrily.  
  
Harry picked himself up, putting his glasses on, and faced Draco. "You bloody well know none of that was true! I'm only calling her my girlfriend when the Dursleys are around, just so they don't find out that I'll be receiving phone calls from a witch - they'd kill me if they knew what Hermione really was!"  
  
Draco still glared at Harry, until Harry finally chuckled and said, "You're jealous, Malfoy, aren't you?"  
  
The Slytherin's expression, if anything, only hardened. Harry smiled. "If it makes you feel better, Ron's not happy that Hermione's pretending to be my girlfriend either."  
  
This seemed to take Draco's mind for a little ride. "You mean....the Mudblood and the Weasel are....? Ugh, those two, Merlin knows what their children would be like! Oh, I did *not* need to think about that!" He shuddered.  
  
"Hey, those are my friends, Draco! How do you think I feel about Crabbe and Goyle reproducing?"  
  
"Like I care?" Draco said, smiling at last, leaning forward to rest his head on Harry's shoulder. "You smell terrible, Potter."  
  
"Thanks, knew I could count on you to make me feel better," Harry said in a mock-exasperated voice.  
  
"Well, you do...I'm just being honest for a change. Are you going to hold that against me?" Draco murmured quietly.  
  
The odd pair stood in silence for a moment, heads together, just basking in the feeling that being close to one another afforded them. Neither of them could ever have imagined this happening, and they were sure that they wouldn't the only ones once someone found out. It had taken both Harry and Draco a few days to get used to this new freedom that they had around each other, a few days filled with some fighting, but even now, though it remained unspoken, both had nightmarish delusions of what would happen when they returned to Hogwarts.  
  
Would it be over, whatever there was? Would they keep it secret, live in the shadows, meet only by night? Or was Harry brave enough and charismatic enough to keep both of them alive with their little secret snogging sessions made public?  
  
For now, getting through the summer was enough trouble. They both knew the time would come that they'd have to make one of those decisions. As Draco had said, they needed to do what the moment said, live it to its fullest, and worry about consequences later.  
  
Sighing, Harry raised his head first and whispered, "Sorry, Master Malfoy, but I have to go cook your dinner, now."  
  
His response was a firm kiss on the neck before the blonde unlocked the door and slid out, leaving a smiling Harry to finish washing up.  
  
**  
  
"You disappoint me once again. How can he have escaped your tight grasp so completely?"  
  
"My Lord, I have searched with the utmost thoroughness, but neither I nor my spies can find him. He must be under the wing of that Mudblood-lover, Dumbledore."  
  
"And you fear to interrogate one of Dumbledore's minions? You fear the patron of Mudbloods? The boy must be found and disposed of. He knows far too much." The voice was nothing more than a sibilant hiss.  
  
"Yes, my Lord, I understand. Let me go now to the Ministry now, and I will begin to...pry information from Fudge."  
  
"Very well. But...before you go..."  
  
"Yes, my Lord?"  
  
"CRUCIO!"  
  
The world dissolved into a mass of pain, colors swirling, all black and blood-red, and Harry awoke with a shout.  
  
Ignoring his glasses, his hands went first to the scar. It felt slightly swollen, though that could just be from the sweat beading on his face. He also felt shaky, as if his whole body yearned to collapse in trembling fits.  
  
He sat up slowly, finally reaching for his glasses, and began to stare out at the moon, still fingering the lightening scar delicately. His thoughts roved endlessly, trying to make sense of the world at the moment, trying to hold onto the dream, trying to ignore the stinging on his forehead.  
  
It had been a while since he'd gone to bed so early, usually going out with Draco till the wee hours of the morning. It had been a while since he'd had these dreams. It had been a while since he'd heard news of Voldemort's movements. All this was bothering him as the remaining fragments of the dream began to fade into oblivion.  
  
Voldemort was still looking for Draco - that had to have been it, that had to have been what the dream was about. And if that dream was the truth, then Voldemort was looking for Draco to...to kill him.  
  
That finalized it.  
  
Harry slipped out from under the bed covers, treading carefully across his room, and lifted the lid of his trunk to get his Firebolt. With a silence to rival that of his snowy owl, he sailed out of his window. Circling Number Four from above like a hawk, he spotted Draco's open window, and just as sneakily as he'd left his own window, he entered this one.  
  
His quarry was fast asleep, covers half-way thrown off as his chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm. His hair was no longer gelled back, and it played across Draco's face like a golden veil. Harry actually felt a pang of jealousy - *How does he look so bloody perfect all the time?*  
  
His footsteps beat softly across the room to the bed, and he sat down gently on the edge, staring in a sort of trance at the sleeping blonde boy. Voldemort wanted to kill Draco? Because...because he knew too much. Because he knew for sure about Pettigrew. Because he knew what Crabbe and Goyle were. Because he called Voldemort, who was in truth a half-blood, a Mudblood to his face and had refused the Dark Order, denying the place in Voldemort's circle of Death Eaters that Draco had been assured of since his birth.  
  
At the last thought, Harry allowed himself a small laugh. Only Draco Malfoy would do that. It was as if a bit of Gryffindor courage existed in the one who was sorted into Slytherin before the Hat had barely touched his head.  
  
Taking his eyes off Draco, Harry instead gazed out of the open window. The curtains were now moving in a gentle breeze, and through them Harry could make out the moon in its last quarter. Lupin was probably recovering somewhere, possibly with Sirius. Sirius...would Sirius and Dumbledore's band of wizards and witches be able to counter Voldemort? Would they be able to protect the last Malfoy?  
  
Once again, his eyes fell on the other boy, one whose breath was causing the strands of thread on his face to move around like the fluttering curtains. This boy...for so long, Harry's bane. For so short, Harry's bewilderment. How could one person be so complex? And now that Harry was beginning to understand that complexity....how was he going to explain it to the likes of Ron? And Hermione? How was he going to explain that he felt the need to defend the last Malfoy, the last in a long legacy, as if he were an endangered species?  
  
Harry thought almost wistfully of his fights with Draco in the past. That an electricity between them existed all through the years, he had known. What were they to do with it now?  
  
Three weeks. Harry laughed quietly, but there was a hint of bitterness in it. Three weeks and they hadn't killed each other, blown up the house, turned each other into ferrets, bounced each other around the room. Why had it taken them four years to figure out that they could be that way? That they could live in something quite reminiscent of peace and harmony, with a little bit of extra emotion thrown in? Why did it take Voldemort, the one who'd ripped apart so many families, to bring two boys of opposing families and Houses together in some sort of truce?  
  
Did Harry have Voldemort to thank for his first kiss?  
  
Drawing his feet up onto the bed, Harry hunched himself into a ball, arms wrapped around his legs, and went back to staring at the moon.  
  
**  
  
His feet were definitely warm. Almost burning with heat...did one of the house elves put a warming pan beneath the sheets for him last night? How extraordinarily caring. An odd quality in one of *their* house elves.  
  
He sighed, reveling in the comfort of the moment - birdsong outside, slivers of sunlight sneaking under his eyelids, warm feet...Stretching, he opened his eyes to a new glorious day at the Manor...*Maybe Father'll let me into the Secret Chamber to practice curses again today...  
  
But he was not in his ebony four-poster. And there were no warming pans at the foot this bed. Just one very scrunched-up Harry Potter.  
  
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Draco sat up and poked at the sleeping invader. Said invader simply groaned and scrunched into an even tighter ball. Losing patience, Malfoy pushed the ball without much exertion off the bed and onto the floor with a thud. There was the tinkling sound of breaking glass, and one loud, "OW!"  
  
Harry raised himself off the floor, massaging his head gingerly with one hand, broken glasses dangling from one ear. "You bastard, you know I can barely see without these!!" he cried, pointing at his glasses with his free hand.  
  
Draco smiled sweetly at him and said in a sugary-candy voice, "Oh, Potter, dear, I'm ever so sorry! I didn't realize that the mess at the foot of my Muggle bed was you." The smile was replaced by a death glare. "What the hell were you doing in my bed, Potter?! Missed me that much?"  
  
"I wasn't in your bed, I was on it!" Harry protested lamely. "I came in here last night because...because I needed someplace to think...I think."  
  
"Of course, Potter. What you mean to say is that you couldn't resist me at all, this handsome Slytherin, heir to the Malfoy fortune..." Draco's voice began to grow dreamy as he thought of himself.  
  
Harry, now embarrassed and abashed, said insultingly, "Your mother Narcissa must have passed her narcissism onto you, Malfoy, if you think you're so wonderful."  
  
Upon hearing this, Draco, who had been about to forgive Harry, became angry bordering on livid - his grey eyes were flashing dangerously. "I told you, Potter. You *never* insult my mother. Now get out."  
  
Harry, blood boiling now, wasn't giving in without a fight. "Your mother! Where the hell was your mother when your own *father* and his bloody *friends* were torturing you? Didn't she care at all?!"  
  
He had struck a chord - Malfoy looked away, not wanting Potter to see the defeat written all over Draco's fine face. Where had his mother been? Overseeing the house elves' preparation of food for her Master?  
  
Harry, in an attempt to mend the situation quietly and without breaking bones, breathed, "I was in here because...I dreamt of Voldemort again. About you. You're in danger, Malfoy - we both are." He laughed again, not bothering to mask the bitterness that he'd been feeling since last night. "I never thought we'd ever be in the same boat. I always thought you'd be the one torturing me, that'd one of us would end up killing the other. And now look at us."  
  
Draco, his back turned to Harry, whispered hoarsely, "You're right, Potter. I used to dream of what I'd like to do to you, once I was alone with you, just you, me, and wands. Then we'd see who was perfect. Then we'd see who was more deserving of the position of fame. Then we'd see who actually worked for that position. Then I'd have you, just you and I, and no one, not even Voldemort, in between."  
  
Harry's eyes were opened widely. Draco...Draco was - jealous of him? Just like Ron...And Harry had never known.  
  
Hesitantly, Harry reached out, laying a hand on Draco's shoulder tenderly. "You...Draco-"  
  
It was shaken off with a simple, "I'm not a charity chase. Screw you, Potter."  
  
Harry, clutching his Firebolt in one hand and his glasses in the other, fled out the door.  
  
~~  
  
I love reviews. They're something that keeps my attention glued to the computer with big watery eyes. Even when Inuyasha is on.  
  
Thanks to everyone!! Hugs for all!! 


	10. Hitotsu Ni Narou

Sorry for the LONG wait...all right, as I said before, the computer at my house does not have the internet. I've found a nice little internet café where I can upload, and I can spend my time after school and on weekends writing, so expect updates between one-three weeks. I've also got a new non- slash story going on as well. You can read the prologue now. I'll be back in the US in under two months, and then you'll see some massive work - I hope. I really wouldn't know what my time schedule would be in the US, as I haven't been there for over eight months.  
  
So basically, bladidah, this is SLASH (though not much in this chapter). If you DON'T LIKE SLASH, DON'T FLAME ME for slash. I see those reviews bashing slash, and all I do is laugh and keep writing. If there's something other than slash that you find incorrect about my story, it's ok to let me know. But if you have a problem with a male-male couple, then I'm not going out of my way to make you happy. If you want non-slash, read my new story. And that's that.  
  
Lastly, I am not a published author. Even if I was allowed to make money - as exchange students are not - I would not be paid for this work. Keyword: Fanfiction.net. If you want something that may eventually make money so that you can pull out lawsuits for original authors "stealing ideas" (which they don'), go to Fictionpress.net.  
  
~~  
  
"Harry, you have to concentrate! You're not doing it right!" Mrs. Figg called anxiously from behind an armchair, where she'd taken refuge from the flying debris.  
  
Harry groaned in response, letting himself fall into the lacy couch in the depths of defeat and melancholy, hands - hands burning hot like brands from holding far too much raw magic at one time - pulling at the hair sticking up all over his head as if he'd rubbed a balloon on it.  
  
Arabella peeked out from her barricaded fort, and seeing Harry in such a position of gloom and despair, the witch sighed quietly and shook her head.  
  
Pulling out her wand, she pointed it at various places around the room, muttering cleaning spells and the occasional, "Reparo!" Splintered shards of glass flew together to form vases while the shredded flower petals, leaves, and stems became whole again (though somewhat withered); broken porcelain became teacups and a pot; and the stuffing melted back into the severely singed cushions. Conjuring a rag from thin air, she approached the coffee table cautiously, intent on mopping up the mess from the teapot.  
  
An apologetic Harry stood up and stopped her, taking the rag with a small, "I'll do it, it's my fault" and began to wipe the tea off the coffee table with a shaking hand, sponging the floor gently in the hope of avoiding any staining, though he knew Mrs. Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover would most certainly be able to take care of something as mundane as spilled tea.  
  
Mrs. Figg laid a hand gently over Harry's trembling one. "Just calm down, Harry. It's Ok, it really is. No harm done. Except to my flowers and cushions," she added, smiling. "But I can always get new ones, now, can't I?"  
  
Harry let go of the rag, sinking back into the couch with the most dejected look on his face. "I'm sorry, I really am...no wonder Malfoy said I needed to learn to control this stuff...but I just can't concentrate today, not at all, even if it is at the expense of your stuff," he said unhappily.  
  
"It's all right, dear! You can't expect to be able to do your best all the time, you know. Everyone perfect is lying, believe me, and everything easy has its cost." She spoke with such conviction and cheerfulness that it would have made a Harry-at-his-best marvel and smile.  
  
But this was not a Harry-at-his-best moment, and she had said quite the wrong thing.  
  
He retorted half angrily, half sulkily, "I should be perfect. Then people would have good reason to look up to me. No, Mrs. Figg. I *need* to be perfect. That's why I'm studying this. If I were perfect, then there would be no Voldemort, no war, no dying or dead. No children growing up the way I did, left on someone's doorstep."  
  
His features contorted, and Arabella could see he was struggling, whether with rage, or what to say next, or even with tears of misery. He continued, though, before she could come up with a way to respond to his tirade. "Everyone must think it so romantic - it's so cliché, the happy story of the mighty prince left in the hands of horrible people. The stories are wrong, though," he spat. "In all the stories, the prince grows up to be handsome and wise and brave, and gets people's heads to turn wherever he goes. Then the prince saves the princess, frees the land from some terrible overlord. And then what happens?" A shadow crossed Harry's face as he asked this question. "The prince lives happily ever after, Mrs. Figg."  
  
Mrs. Figg cast her eyes to the ground, waiting, letting Harry extract this poison from his system. He mistook her silence for uncertainty, and spoke once again in venomous bitterness.  
  
"The stories are wrong, Mrs. Figg. It doesn't work that way. I can't save anyone, not even the stupid damsel in distress - the damn damsel doesn't want to be saved." In his mind's eye, Cedric's face melted into Draco's, and his mouth became a grim smile.  
  
"Oh, I turn heads wherever I go, sure enough. If it's in the Muggle world, they stare at my clothes and my Sellotaped glasses. And when it's anywhere away from Muggles, they see the scar, and nothing else." Anguished and angry, he imitated the first voice that came to his mind: Hagrid's. "Oh, 'e fought You-Know-Who when he was on'y a baby, and 'e lived, so he did. Yer great, Harry Potter. It's great ter be yeh, Harry, innit? Yer gonna win, Harry!"  
  
It happened before Harry could even blink.  
  
Mrs. Figg slapped him across the face with amazing strength for an old woman.  
  
Harry's head reeled, and he was lucky to already be sitting. He raised a hand slowly to the red angry welt on his face and to his watering eyes, entirely shocked out of his depression. Staring up at Mrs. Figg with his mouth wide open, he was even more bewildered by the fact that her face showed neither anger nor sadness, just a firm resolution.  
  
"Do you know why those princes always won, Harry? There are a number of reasons. We could look at it through your eyes, for example. You say the stories are wrong? Well, that's because they are. I told you, everyone perfect is lying. Those stories were created for inspiration, to pass on the will to persevere. Those stories are supposed to make you want to succeed, nothing more.  
  
But why did those princes succeed? How did they do all of those amazing things? It's because they were not alone. Whether there was the overlooked dopey friend standing in the background, or whether they had a very special steed or some magical sword or spear, they succeeded because there was someone there to help, someone there to encourage. And that is why the stories are true." She drew in a deep breath.  
  
"I think we'll leave the lesson here for today, Harry. But I will say it again. You are not alone. You never have been. There are people out there who will blindly put all their faith in you because of that scar," she said, pointing at Harry's forehead, "but there are others that know that while you may have some sort of power enhancing your blood, you are still *human*. You are still a teenager, a youth. They will not let you stand alone. Your friends, Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, that mutt Black, even Severus Snape, your Potions teacher."  
  
Harry drew in a deep shuddering breath, before the tears came in a great flood, tears that had never been fully shed since he was a child, tears that had formed the deepest of oceans in his heart.  
  
Why had he denied Ron's wish for Harry to come to the Burrow? He could do with one of Mrs. Weasley's hugs right now...even one of Hagrid's bone- crushing embraces would be good, despite Harry's guilt at having made fun of the half-giant.  
  
Arabella sat down on the couch next to him, stroking his hair in a comforting manner, and Harry collapsed into her, sobbing.  
  
**  
  
"Wanna watch a movie?"  
  
"No...."  
  
"Wanna play Final Fantasy X-2? Just came out, Dad ordered it for me from Japan, brand new!"  
  
"No..."  
  
"I know!! Wanna see the Playboy I got from Piers? Mum doesn't know about it!"  
  
"No..."  
  
"Wanna bug Mum for some food? Too bad Harry isn't around...I know! When Harry gets back, we can lock him in the cupboard under the stairs for fun!!"  
  
Draco got up with an exasperated, "Do what you want, I'm going for a walk," knowing full well Dudley wouldn't follow.  
  
Grabbing a light jacket off the coat rack, the boy slouched out of the house without the usual niceties or farewells he'd grown accustomed to, with Aunt Petunia hovering over his shoulder save for when she was..."working". In the same manner, he dragged himself up the street, wondering where to go.  
  
He knew exactly where Harry was, even though Harry had disappeared long before Draco had come down for breakfast. However, he also knew that wherever Harry was, Draco did not want to be.  
  
Oh, it had nothing to do with Mrs. Figg's common blood. Truth be told, Draco had overcome that particular barrier, the barrier of sitting on a couch that a Mudblood had sat on, drinking from glasses out of which a Mudblood had drank. While no one at Hogwarts ever need know *that* little bit, the Pureblood Slytherin had resigned himself to a summer of mediocrity.  
  
No, it definitely had nothing to do with Mrs. Figg. It was most certainly Harry that Draco wanted to avoid.  
  
The damn Gryffindor was probably boasting right now to Mrs. Figg about how he was going to use his magic to save the world, and how he would bring peace to everyone, including Draco, because it was Harry's foreordained mission to rid the world of evil and to bring everyone back to the Light.  
  
He was probably joking with Mrs. Figg about Draco's confession...Joking about how petty the Slytherin had been with a deep-founded jealousy that had spurred him to attack and belittle Harry for as long as the boys had known each other. Joking about how they could have been friends so long ago. Laughing at Draco for having been such an insufferable git when there was really no reason for it.  
  
Laughing at Draco for always wanting Harry's...friendship? Was friendship even the right word?  
  
No. Draco had no friends. He had lackeys, huge boulders always ordered to stand at his back for no reason other than to add to Draco's importance. And the other Slytherins...they knew Draco was born of a family that was to be treated with the greatest of caution and respect, and so kept their distance.  
  
Except for Pansy Parkinson, whose day wasn't fulfilled if she hadn't glomped onto Draco's arm and showered him with praise at least once. On the other hand, she was simply out for the trophy husband and the money involved when one entered the Malfoy family.  
  
*Pansy Malfoy?* Draco allowed himself the first smirk his features had felt that day. No, Pansy was definitely not a future Malfoy. Too simpering, too delicate, too gossipy and oft-times flaky to be allowed into Malfoy Manor.  
  
Draco's face fell. *That's if I'm ever allowed into Malfoy Manor again...*  
  
Raising his eyes from the bumpy pavement as he continued to walk, Draco stared up over the houses on this street into the setting sun. It had always been his favorite part of the day, sunset. There was one tower at the Manor that presented a particularly fine view, where you could see the sun melting behind the mountains over a thick carpet of trees so green as to look black under the brightly-hued sun.  
  
But he was not at the Manor. No, he was at that stupid Muggle playground now.  
  
Kicking some of the woodchips out of the way, he sulkily walked to a swing and sat down, brooding.  
  
**  
  
He'd washed his face a hundred times, but his eyes were still bloodshot and red, something that the Ferret was apt to notice. Something that he was bound to taunt Harry about. Something that would cause that sneer to appear, those silvery eyes to glimmer in gleeful maliciousness.  
  
And what was worse...they still had over a month till September, over a month till their fifth year at Hogwarts began. A month of bickering and bantering with that epitome of nonconformists - unless Harry sucked up his pride and apologized, for Malfoy most certainly wouldn't do so.  
  
A young boy's petulant voice drifted to him from out of the past.  
  
"I thought you were going to buy me a present."  
  
In Harry's mind, this question was answered, this time with a voice dripping of coldness.  
  
"I said I would buy you a racing broom."  
  
"What's the good of that if I'm not on the house team? Harry Potter got a Nimbus 2000 last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor." Bitterness marred the drawling speech. "He's not even that good, it's just because he'd famous....famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead.....everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick-"  
  
Apologize to Malfoy for something that was Malfoy's problem? Malfoy was the jealous one...and yet, Harry had spurred that jealousy on, always. Hadn't it been Harry who'd brushed aside friendship when Draco offered it? Sure, Draco had been rude at the time, and that rudeness did influence Harry's decision. Then there was the Seeker squabble, when Harry had become the youngest Hogwarts Quidditch player in a century. And why was he the youngest player in that time span? Draco. Surely that alone was enough to make Malfoy bitter.  
  
In all their fights, except the ones where Snape had been present, Malfoy had always come off the worse. And Harry had laughed.  
  
Harry stared into his reflection in the mirror. Pale face, green eyes rimmed with red, the tips of his jet hair dripping slightly from the water. Hadn't he been staring at his reflection just yesterday, and for nearly the same reason? That same guilt at having betrayed a friend.  
  
Was Malfoy a friend?  
  
*No, he's not a friend. He's my...he's the boy who sleeps in the room next to me. He's the boy who taught me about my own power. He's the boy who goes flying with me nearly every night. He's the first person I kissed. Despite the fact that he's been nothing but a....a bastard till now, he's all I've got.*  
  
Harry turned away from the mirror and opened the door, flicking the light off wearily. In that one moment, as dazzling brightness faded into shadow, Harry looked tired. He looked old.  
  
*He's the boy I want to...to save. Not because I love him, but because he's been through the same things I have. We were always together - we just never realized it. And I promise I will save him...And it looks like I'll be the one doing the apologizing again.*  
  
**  
  
But Draco didn't turn up for dinner. Aunt Petunia was chewing her lip nervously, shooting suspicious glances in her oblivious nephew's direction. To her annoyance, Harry was looking extremely preoccupied, brow furrowed as he pushed the little food he had on his plate with his fork, making little designs in the sauce.  
  
Aunt Petunia had postponed dinner from six to six thirty, to seven, to seven fifteen...by seven thirty, Dudley and Vernon had been complaining loudly, and that was just their voices, not counting the bass drum rumblings from their prodigious stomachs. Relenting, she had then ordered Harry to man his post at the stove, while she herself set up a seat by the front door, peeking out of the mullioned side panes.  
  
At this moment, she was pacing the kitchen, having eaten about two bites of her very well prepared chicken and salad. The television news filtered in from the living room where Uncle Vernon sat rigidly - Draco's disappearance was weighing on his mind as well, or rather, the vast amount of money that the Dursley's would lose should anything happen to the boy. At the table, Dudley was packing in as much salad as he could, salad lathered with as much bleu cheese dressing he could get out of the bottle. He was also greedily eyeing the sugar-free cake Aunt Petunia had bought, which was sitting in plain view on the counter. And Harry...  
  
He had finally given up eating, like Aunt Petunia. With a sigh, he picked himself off his stool by the sink, and dragged himself over to Dudley, handing his cousin his still-full plate. The larger boy was slightly surprised, but quite took it for granted. Without so much as a thank-you, he swiped Harry's plate clean and went to work off his own plate.  
  
It was as he rinsed the soap from the third dish in the sink that the front door opened, and a faint, "I'm home" echoed in. With a shriek, Aunt Petunia raced from the kitchen. Harry followed her slowly, almost reluctantly, the soapy dish still in his hand.  
  
He entered the hallway to find Draco looking absolutely terrified, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, as Aunt Petunia hugged him. She was on the verge of tears, with little hiccupping phrases like "My sweetie could have been anywhere!" or "Thank God you're home all safe and sound!" flying from her mouth. It was only when Uncle Vernon marched in to slap Draco genially on the back, congratulating Draco for having made it back safely, that she disentangled herself.  
  
Harry, though more than inclined to laugh at Draco's face, didn't want to risk worsening the situation between himself and the Slytherin, and so quickly turned back into the kitchen to go back to the dishes. He had barely reached the sink, however, when Aunt Petunia drifted in with a dreamy, yet resolved, expression on her face that, for Draco's sake, Harry didn't like one bit. Feeling apprehensive, he quietly asked, "Does Mal- Draco want something to eat?"  
  
Aunt Petunia, roused from some vision, looked disgustedly at her nephew. "Of course he's hungry! And I'll take care of it. Get out of my sight while I get something ready for him, go on! Up to your room!"  
  
Not passing up a chance to get out of washing dishes, Harry raced for his bedroom. The only problem was that the door was blocked by a tall, blonde figure leaning casually against it, eyes closed.  
  
"Done with the dishes?" he prompted without opening his eyes.  
  
Somewhat rebelliously, Harry muttered, "Yes. Now would you move? I don't want to take up any more of your time than I need to, Master Malfoy."  
  
"Oh, it's Master Malfoy, now, is it? The great Harry Potter calls me 'Master'?"  
  
It most certainly wasn't the first time over the last three weeks that Harry had called Draco 'Master', but Draco was itching for a fight. Any excuse would do, and.....  
  
Harry's face reddened, and he said scathingly, "Well, looks like we'll have to forego apologies then! Good, at least I save face that way. Now move, Malfoy, or I'll give both you a scar of your own!"  
  
Grey eyes snapping open, Draco moved forward from the door towards Harry, bending his head to make it eye-level with Harry's, and snapped, "Fine, we will skip the apologies! And I told you once before, I don't think getting your head cut open makes you very special at all!"  
  
"Then why are you blocking my way, Malfoy?" Harry said in a dead whisper.  
  
Draco paused, before the smirk appeared, and an eyebrow quirkily lifted. "Why, Potter? You intruded in my perfect life, so I'm intruding in yours. I was supposed to rule Hogwarts, and you were just supposed to be one of my loyal subjects, like the rest of those mindless sheep that Hogwarts is so good at producing. But no one can tame you, Gryffindor Lion. You denied me my power, so I'll always be there to eat away at yours. I'll always be here, Potter."  
  
Harry's eyes were searching the floor, ears alone taking in Draco's perspective, for Harry didn't trust his eyes when it came to meeting Malfoy's. As Draco finished, Harry sighed quietly. "There's no need for promises, Malfoy." And at last he looked up.  
  
Startled was an understatement on Draco's behalf. A fire brighter than Floo Powder burned in Harry's emerald orbs, leaping and twisting intricately. But the Slytherin only saw it for a moment, as the eyes of both teenagers flickered shut in anticipation of the thing they most desired, yet both knew was not supposed to happen, especially at this moment. And once again, their lips met as if they had meant to do it all along.  
  
It wasn't a romantic moment, as Draco's hand tangled itself in Harry's untidy hair. There was nothing more than hunger, lust, and just the littlest bit of the steadily growing love and addiction that the boys bore for each other, something that had always existed between them. Every human desires most what they cannot have, what is refused them, and so it was with these two. Their love showed most in the climax of battle, and this moment, this heated kiss with little tastes and nips, deepening slowly as they half-forgave each other, was only different for one reason.  
  
Aunt Petunia's scream of shock and the clatter of the tray full of food she carried as it hit the landing floor with an almighty crash would be that one reason.  
  
Breaking apart, utterly startled, confused, and bordering on panicking, the boys stared at the distraught woman, who had her hands clapped over her mouth. Uncle Vernon's voice could be heard as he thundered into the hallway to see what was wrong.  
  
But before Aunt Petunia stopped screaming, before Uncle Vernon could make his way upstairs, Harry's instincts kicked in. He raised a hand, shouting a single word. "Obliviate!!"  
  
A jet of blue-green light raced from the outstretched palm, hitting Harry's aunt squarely in the chest.  
  
The shrieks subsided, as Aunt Petunia stumbled slightly. A confused, slightly vague look crossed her face, and she gazed slightly open-mouthed for a few minutes at Draco and Harry, both of whom wore identical expressions of pure shock.  
  
Aunt Petunia gave herself a sudden little shake, and was back to herself, though with no memory of the incident she had just witnessed. Instead, she gasped loudly as she took in the sight of the salad dressing soaking into the carpet under the weight of the dish of chicken, not to mention some fragments of chipped corning ware poking upwards off the floor. Harry forcibly willed himself to move forward and help her clean, though Draco remained rooted to the spot.  
  
Uncle Vernon, however, was quite well aware that his wife had screamed, and was keen to find out why. Within no time at all, he had barged up the stairs, and let out a nasty curse at the sight of the broken dishes and food strewn about the landing. And he knew exactly who to blame it on.  
  
"Boy!! What the devil did you do this time?" he shouted, his great gumdrop of a face turning an ugly shade of red.  
  
Uncle Vernon got the surprise of his life when Draco drawlingly answered him instead. "There.....there was a huge cockroach, sir. It ran across Aunt....Aunt Petunia's path - almost ran over her foot, even - so she screamed in fright and dropped the tray." Harry nodded encouragingly, from his position on the floor next to his aunt, though his face was whiter than chalk; Aunt Petunia only bemoaned the state of her stained carpet.  
  
Staring beadily from Harry and Petunia scrambling awkwardly on the floor to a very pale Draco, Uncle Vernon snorted once before saying, "Very well. I'll have to call the pest control office tomorrow then."  
  
He turned to go, but paused and tilted his head towards Draco's door. "Go on, get some rest, Mr. Malfoy. You look like you're peaky - coming down with something, are you?" Draco nodded, thought whether it was agreeing with rest or with illness, Vernon didn't know and didn't ask.  
  
Instead he headed downstairs, calling to his wife to leave the cleaning to Harry. Aunt Petunia hurried away, slightly dazed and trembling, bearing the tray laden with as much of the spilled food and broken serving ware as she could fit on it.  
  
When her footsteps faded from the hall into the kitchen, Harry sat back on his heels, staring blankly at the stain on the floor. "What have I done...what did I do, Malfoy?.....What the bloody hell have I done? What the hell happened?"  
  
Prying his feet from the floor where they felt like they had frozen, Draco stepped forward heavily, just as shocked as Harry. "It's...it isn't your fault, I guess. Don't kill yourself about it. Last time you broke the Restriction for Underage Wizardry in this house, you were let off, weren't you?"  
  
Harry gazed openmouthed at Draco , a look of horror crossing his face. "The Restriction!? The Restriction for Underage Wizardry! I didn't even think about that, Malfoy!! I was just freaking about having used and Memory Charm without a wand on MY OWN AUNT, and no....I'm screwed!.....wait," he whispered, as the horror faded into confusion and the beginnings of relief, "Why didn't they pick up my ki practice at Mrs. Figg's? Maybe they won't notice this one!"  
  
Draco's words did not alleviate his fears.  
  
"This is a Muggle home, Potter. Figg's place is magical. Sensors are over Muggle places, Harry, so that they can fine people who've risked exposing our society in front of Muggles, and that's why they didn't pick it up at your little Mud-Muggle-born's home. You've lived with the Weasleys before, haven't you? I've heard those twins spend their holidays inventing jokes, and they've never gotten caught. Surely you noticed?" His voice was growing hysterical from the stress and shock.  
  
Relief sank into terror, and Harry's breathing hitched as his green eyes widened to the size of saucers. On the verge of hyperventilating, Harry could only think of one thought: he was expelled for sure this time.  
  
He started at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. Lifting his eyes to meet Draco's, he mouthed wordlessly, but Draco was quite a few steps ahead of him, though still shell-shocked. "All we need, Potter, is a good excuse," he whispered cajolingly, a lot braver and calmer than he felt. "It was just a Memory Charm, not like you inflated one of them again - and if they didn't put you in Azkaban for inflating a Muggle, they won't for a Memory charm. We just need an excuse as to why you needed to do a Memory-"  
  
But he was cut off by the doorbell. Both boys tensed, knowing full well who was down the stairs and outside the door. How had they gotten there so fast? Surely they wouldn't risk Apparition on a Muggle street?  
  
Uncle Vernon's voice boomed out much the same as it had the day Draco had arrived. "Boy! Get the door!!"  
  
Walking as if to his doom, Harry slowly stumbled down the steps, followed closely by Draco. Both were stiff-legged, and were trying vainly to remain calm. As they reached the bottom step, the doorbell rang once more, and Uncle Vernon's angry face peered around the living room wall. "Hurry up, boy, you're making them wait!"  
  
He obviously had no idea whatsoever that he was about to be playing host to most likely a group of Ministry wizards - though maybe their desire to throw Harry in Azkaban might make Vernon rational.  
  
Feelings of dread closing in around his heart, it was only when he felt Draco's hand slowly rest on his shoulder in as much a move of comfort the Malfoy boy knew how to make that Harry reached forward and turned the knob.  
  
The door swung open, revealing an odd sight - quite odd, to a Muggle. Harry was far too used to seeing Fudge in his strange arrangement of clothing to feel that this was out of place, but just the sight of Fudge and the official behind him- he looked familiar, Peasegood, wasn't that his name? - made Harry blanch, his breath coming in great gasps. Fudge's fatherly smile was completely lost on him.  
  
Draco's hand slid off Harry's shoulder to clench at his side as he glared with a mixture of nervousness and imperiousness at Fudge. He knew now he shouldn't have come downstairs with Harry - a Malfoy was almost as easy to distinguish as a Weasley, and Fudge was well-acquainted with at least Lucius, although Draco and Narcissa had both been introduced to the Minister before as well.  
  
But Uncle Vernon saved him any further worry on the matter. Waddling over with a pleasant "Good evening", he stopped short as he took in the clothes that these two late-night visitors wore. Funny-colored cloaks, hats, and suits, not to mention those.....were they shoes? They may have looked impressive to a wizard, but their charm was completely lost on Mr. Dursley.  
  
Without much ado, he hastily dropped his kindly manner and spat nastily, "You're here for the boy, are you? What did he do this time?" His tone was very clipped, and he was angry enough to have forgotten that the completely "normal" Draco was standing quite within earshot.  
  
Fudge's smile disappeared, and his brow furrowed at being addressed so rudely by a lowly Muggle....So this was why Harry had claimed he hated Privet Drive....Shaking himself, Fudge set about to business in tones just as clipped as Vernon.  
  
"Sorry business, my dear sir, but I just need to talk to your nephew for a few minutes about a little bit of magic detected at this house not much long ago." Fudge paused uneasily, watching as Uncle Vernon's face went through shades faster than a spinning color wheel.  
  
Meanwhile, while Harry remained the center of attention, Draco was quietly inching backwards, getting to the stairs as fast as he could. No one, no one, no one was supposed to know that Draco was staying with the Dursleys, and Fudge was bumbling enough to blurt something out in front of said Dursleys. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the stairs and began to edge quietly upwards.  
  
Continuing where he left off, Fudge said, "We'll need to check Mr. Potter's wand. When the magic was performed, the sensors went haywire and we weren't able to tell what spell-!!"  
  
At the word "wand", Uncle Vernon let out a roar and practically dived at Harry with a shout of "BOY!!"  
  
There were mixed cries of "My dear sir!!", "What do you think you're doing?", "Blast it, boy!!", and "Vernon!", loud enough so that Draco was startled and nearly slipped on a stair in his distraction. When he looked down, it was to see Fudge and Peasegood pulling Vernon off Harry, who was cowering against the wall, half-curled up in what must have been self- defense. Aunt Petunia could be heard crying from the doorway into the kitchen, and Dudley's head could be seen sticking past the living room entranceway as he goggled, eyes popping, at the scene.  
  
Draco drew one shuddering gasp and ran up to his room, slamming the door on his way in. Only then did Uncle Vernon look up and realize that his summertime home student had seen and heard everything. Fudge, likewise, was quite alarmed, and whispered quietly, "The Malfoy boy? Here?" Fortunately Uncle Vernon was huffing, breathing deeply and heavily, and didn't hear.  
  
Dudley was the first to break the tense silence. "Dad?"  
  
Drawing one final deep breath in through his flared nostrils, Mr. Dursley said, "They're here to check Potter's wand. And then they're leaving." Glaring, he finished, "The boy's school things are upstairs in his room. He can show you himself. And then get out." He turned and stomped back into the living room, drawing Dudley with him and shooing the sobbing Aunt Petunia back into the kitchen.  
  
Harry was still prone on the floor, and Fudge awkwardly pulled him to his feet. All three wizards were pale, shocked, and his Harry's case, bleeding from a cut across his cheek where Uncle Vernon's wedding ring had struck him. "Up you get, Mr. Potter, up you get. Let's see to that cut, and then we'll have to check your wand, just a Priori Incantatem, and you'll be fine. We may also have to check your friend's wand as well...."  
  
Wiping the wound gingerly, Harry whispered hoarsely, " I'm OK. But no, he...Draco doesn't have his wand with him, Minister. It was.....you can check my wand, but it wasn't....it wasn't us....." Draco's words echoed in his mind, that he must simply find a good excuse. And then it hit Harry, and a smile almost broke out on his face for the first time that day-  
  
"It was Dobby, a house-elf I'm friends with. He came to visit from Hogwarts, where he works, he and got a little...a little out of ha-hand," he stuttered out.  
  
Fudge was looking distinctly disgruntled as the group slowly mounted the steps, and Rita Skeeter's articles were clearly still troubling him. Was the boy lying? Should Fudge trust him? And so he replied simply, "We'll just have to check your wand to be sure - when the sensors went haywire, we realized that it wasn't normal magic we were dealing with, so it very well may have been a house-elf. But be that as it may....."  
  
Harry's room, being closest to the landing, was empty when they entered, even Hedwig's cage. Fudge and Peasegood looked around nervously, taking in the surroundings in which the Boy-Who-Lived spent his days. The room was rather untidy, toys and Muggle books piled around the walls closest to the door, but the far side of the room by the window had been cleared, and here Harry's school trunk was set up.  
  
At the moment, Harry was rummaging around in it, searching for his wand. Peasegood stood tensely in the background before leaning forward slightly to whisper to Fudge, "If the Muggles didn't see him doing magic..."  
  
But Harry had straightened up, clutching the eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather that he called a wand, and Arnie Peasegood, cut off, stepped forward to take the object of suspicion.  
  
Placing his own wand tip-to-tip with Harry's, the Obliviator cried sharply, "Prior Incantato!"  
  
And out of Harry's wand spouted green wisps that formed into the shape of pustules, the remnants of the Furnunculus Charm that he had used on the Slytherin Trio on the train ride home from Hogwarts three weeks ago.  
  
Fudge clucked his tongue. "Furnunculus Charm? Well, none of the Muggles, nor young Master Malfoy-" Harry winced at the name - "were in any way harmed by that, obviously - they most certainly didn't have boils all over their faces. We'll have to do use a Time-Teller Draught, to be sure."  
  
Peasegood nodded in agreement, and slipped a hand inside his cloak, withdrawing a small bottle of a red viscous liquid. Hand trembling as he uncorked it, he let one small drop land on the wand under investigation. It fizzed where it made contact, causing Harry to jump slighty, and he was even more surprised when the smoke rising twisted itself into numbers, 631.  
  
"Well, that's that. It's last spell was cast on the 31st of June, no problems. We'll have to do an inquiry with the house-elf, then. Diggory would be good to..." But Mr. Peasegood stopped talking as he watched Harry's face pale at the name of 'Diggory'.  
  
With a slightly skeptical look on his face, Fudge said, "Well, Mr. Potter, we'll have to give you a warning this time. But I assure you, any more signs of magic here - wizard or non - and we'll have to consider serious punishment. Hopefully," he added in an unsettling tone, "the treatment you receive from the Muggles will heighten your cautiousness. Wouldn't want to see Harry Potter stuck living with them forever, now would we?" He smiled, but his eyes remained cloudy.  
  
Harry nodded solemnly as Peasegood handed back his wand. Placing it on the bed, Harry walked to the door, and the Ministry warlocks followed him down the steps and to the front door. Fudge shook Harry's hand, but his last meeting with Harry was clearly weighing on his mind, and it was rather quickly that he swept himself and Peasegood out onto the deserted street to Disapparate. With a last melancholic wave, Harry shut the door on the sound of two loud POPS!!  
  
Uncle Vernon's mean head stuck around the living room wall, and snarled, "Up to bed! NOW!"  
  
Harry dragged himself upstairs. He had gotten off...and Dobby was in trouble now. And he had done a real spell without a wand, and Draco....  
  
**  
  
Fudge wearily removed his bowler and cloak, and the standing rack in his office bent double for him to place both items on it properly before the bewitched rack straightened up again.  
  
Sitting at his desk, he helped himself to a pile of buns resting on top of a teetering stack of parchment, but had only taken one bite when a noise at the door to his office made him start.  
  
Lucius Malfoy was leaning nonchalantly against the door, toying with a roll of parchment in his hands. "Late night, Minister?" A smile played around his lips.  
  
Sighing and shaking his head, the Minister for Magic said dejectedly, "Had to investigate a case of Underage Wizardry at young Harry Potter's house - the boy is getting completely out of hand, and those Muggles he lives with are even worse. Scared your son so badly that he ran up to his room and slammed the door." Lucius' eyes widened, but Fudge didn't stop. "Had to check the boy's wand - wanted to check young Master Malfoy's as well, but Mr. Potter said that your son didn't have his wand on him, Lucius. Well, we found nothing. Potter claims it was a house-elf."  
  
Lucius' smile had turned triumphant. "Very well. I'll question my son, my Draco, about it when.....when we see him." His eyes glinted madly, though it was lost on Cornelius Fudge.  
  
~~  
  
Thanks for all reviews!!  
  
Shun-chan would like to thank Portuguese Girl for some beautiful reviews. Shun-chan, who likes talking in third person, got this review during a really bad week, and that was probably the highlight of her day. Doumo Arigatou Gozaimasu!!  
  
Saa, Minna-san, Jaa ne! 


	11. Nakanaide

Ossu! New long chapter....My little Draco figurine is doing good work as a muse in my opinion, but you decide that.  
  
Mixed feelings in this chapter, depression, fear, giddiness, snogging, and back to depression. Enjoy.  
  
Um, guess what! I own about as much shares in the Harry Potter franchise as the Budweiser Frogs. Original ideas can be harvested at Fictionpress.net.  
  
~~  
  
"Potter, dammit, stop! You're making me dizzy!" Draco's voice relayed just how stressed out he was. Head in hands, normally slicked hair ruffled, the Slytherin groaned and sat rocking back and forth on his bed.  
  
Harry paused in his pacing long enough to shoot a disbelieving look at the owner of whose room he had invaded immediately after the Ministry officials had departed, but quickly resumed his steps around the room, though it was helping the nerves of neither him nor Draco. It was only when Draco stood up suddenly and bodily dragged Harry over to sit on the bed next to him that Gryffindor's Beloved stopped, though his left leg was still twitching nervously, bouncing up and down.  
  
Draco, head once again buried in his hands, spoke, though it was slightly muffled. "So Fudge knows I'm here. If my father gets hold of this....Then again, there's always the Mud-Mrs. Figg. She's got this house under the Fidelius Charm, so it should block out the Dark Lord, but...."  
  
"BUT if the Ministry can get here - your dad is well-affiliated with the Ministry, so won't he be able to trace Fudge here? Or ask any of the Obliviators?" Harry's words trembled on hysterical, though he was trying to inject some sort of calmness and confidence into his speech.  
  
"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you, Potter?" the blonde answered sardonically. "It's possible that the Fidelius will block out Voldemort," he said truthfully, "but a Ministry official, accompanied by a Death Eater, could penetrate the barrier. And as it takes nothing more than the Avada to get rid of a wizard, any Death Eater could do it." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco bit back, "Yes, I bloody know you've already lived through one Avada Kedavra, Potter, but not all of us have been lucky enough to experience that!"  
  
Both boys lapsed into silence, burdened with fear and uncertainty, and, in Harry's case, worries about wandless magic.  
  
Truth be told, Harry wasn't as troubled by the imminent arrival of possibly a number of Death Eaters - at least, not when it came to his own life, but he didn't dare tell Draco that he was worried for the Slytherin's life. No, really, the most bothersome thing was the Memory Charm.  
  
How did that happen? Harry's lessons with Mrs. Figg were only supposed to help him control his ki, not use it in battle. In fact, in the beginning, hadn't he only wanted to detect aura? But now....  
  
Harry racked his brain, thinking. Professor McGonagall had once said that the only people who could do magic without wands were Animagi, and then those few people could only transform without a wand, nothing more. After four years of magical education, he knew very well that Accidental Magic could be performed without a wand, such incidences as when Harry inflated Aunt Marge, but major spells required that little stick of wood. And a Memory Charm...that was definitely a major spell.  
  
And as much as he detested the Dursleys and they him, he never really wanted to hurt them. Wistfully, Harry thought of his younger years, how he had begged Hagrid to let him buy a book of curses in Flourish and Blotts for the sole purpose of hexing Dudley, and he almost laughed as he recalled the Ton-Tongue Toffee Incident. These Dursleys had been cruel to him, no denying it - the fresh cut on his cheek was proof of that - but Harry wasn't about to fight violence with violence.  
  
So a Memory Charm wasn't exactly violence, but it was enough for Harry to realize that the only person deserving of his deep-founded hate and anger was Voldemort. This magic....it would be saved for Voldemort.  
  
Harry chanced a glance at Draco. The other boy was staring into space, biting his lower lip.  
  
Would Draco fight as well? He had refused the Dark Mark, so surely he was willing to join the Light....then again, maybe not. Remain neutral, would he?  
  
But...Harry's thoughts trailed off as he stared out of the window into the night sky.  
  
**  
  
It was the light filtering in through the window that woke him effectively rather than Draco's prodding finger in his ribs. Opening his eyes reluctantly, it was to find himself face to face with a rather peeved Malfoy.  
  
"Hurry up, before your Aunt wakes up and finds out you're not in your own room!"  
  
Groggily, Harry whispered, "I fell asleep in your room? How come you didn't wake me up before?" There was a touch of sullenness in his voice.  
  
Slightly pink, the Slytherin hissed, "We both fell asleep, idiot! I woke up with my head on your chest, dammit! Not pleasant, if I may say so! Now come on, out!....Please," he added as an afterthought, though there was a hint of menace in that word.  
  
Slightly dazed at the 'please', Harry sleepily slipped off Draco's bed and tottered over to the door, opened it cautiously, and snuck out. As the door shut, Draco ran a tense hand through his blonde locks before standing up to get changed.  
  
In all honesty, he hadn't slept well. While Harry's chest had in truth been quite comfortable, furious thoughts had clouded his dreams, thoughts of what was to happen or what could be happening, where he was to go, whom he could turn to...whom he could turn to...that was it!  
  
Throwing aside the dark top in his hand that he had just pulled from his bureau, he dove to the floor and began rummaging through his bottom drawer for parchment, quill, and ink well.  
  
Scrambling up to his desk, he began scribbling as fast as he could to the only person he felt he could truly trust.  
  
~Severus, As you may or may not have heard, Harry got into a spot of bother with...~  
  
Draco paused. Snape didn't know anything about Harry's ki ability, unless he'd heard from Dumbledore when the Headmaster granted permission for Harry to develop his powers. What should he say to his godfather?  
  
Tentatively, he wrote,  
  
~with a bit of Accidental Magic. The Ministry - led by Fudge - came to investigate. Harry got off, but Fudge saw me. Fudge knows I'm here, Severus, and if Lucius gets wind of it (which he will - Fudge is far too blustery), Potter and I are both in danger, even more than normal. Potter especially has me worried, mainly because he hasn't been himself lately.  
  
Now, I know what you're thinking. Don't blame Harry, as it was partly my fault that the magic came about. Harry and I....we were just fighting again, you know the routine.~  
  
Hesitating again, Draco mused over what to do. He didn't dare tell Snape the truth, not just yet at least, and definitely not in a letter. Shaking his head, he finished with his say.  
  
"I'm fine right now, and as long as the Fidelius Charm over this house holds, the Dark Lord will be kept at bay. But....it's Lucius that scares me, Severus. He's far too determined to reinstate the rise of the Dark Arts, and any who stand in his way.....At least there's just over a month left until Harry and I start school again. And yet, we'll probably be even more vulnerable there.~ he added a little dispassionately.  
  
~I'm sending this with Potter's owl, so don't be surprised by the sight of her. Hope you're well.~  
  
Staring down at his words, he realized how stupid this was going to sound to Severus, not to mention how easily his godfather would see through and ignore his plea for forgiveness on Harry's part.  
  
Sighing, he folded up the parchment and left it on his desk. He'd send it with Hedwig as soon as he could talk to Potter about it.  
  
**  
  
Aunt Petunia smiled sweetly as Draco entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later, far earlier than normal. "Feeling all right, Draco?" she asked daintily, in tribute to his supposed illness last night. However, Draco noticed that her eyes were rather red, but he hadn't seen them for long before the woman turned sharply and barked at the skinny form tending the bacon, "Hurry, boy, he's hungry."  
  
Draco's delicate eyebrows furrowed as Harry replied meekly, "Yes, Aunt Petunia." Was Potter still upset at having modified Petunia's memory? It was as if the boldest boy in Hogwarts only acted rashly to hide an inferiority complex.  
  
He didn't have long to brood about Potter's behavior before Harry placed a plate loaded with eggs and bacon it front of him. Draco stared imperiously up at Harry, trying to anger the other boy into his normal self, but Harry simply smiled sadly at him and moved back to the stove.  
  
Feeling hungry for a change, especially after not eating the night before, Draco picked up his fork and applied himself to his eggs, but a hand on his shoulder made him look up. Uncle Vernon was there, and Dudley right behind him. Both were smiling pleasantly, and in Vernon's hand, a letter was clutched, while Dudley carried the rest of the daily mail. Draco felt an impending sense of doom.  
  
"Just received a letter from Marge, Petunia dear! She's inviting us up for the weekend! Tried to call the other day, but her phone's been wonky lately! Marge wants to meet our young Draco here!"  
  
Aunt Petunia let out an exclamation of happiness and clapped her hands in excitement. Harry, on the other hand, turned a snort into a well-disguised cough, but Uncle Vernon caught him. "Think visiting Marge is below you boy? Never fear, you're not going! Wouldn't dare trust you near my sister again after -" But he stopped, realizing Draco was eyeing him curiously.  
  
"No," he resumed, "I'm sure we can find a babysitter for the boy, it's only for two days after all, and I daresay Marge will be glad to be rid of him for a change. Yes, I think the babysitter's the best option."  
  
Harry was looking distinctly torn between glumness and elation, but then Petunia whispered, "We could always call what's-her-name, you know, Figg or whatever, where we used to leave him before...."  
  
"An excellent suggestion, Petunia!" Uncle Vernon boomed, and Harry quite agreed. Yes, things were definitely taking an up-turn, as was Harry's mood. "I'll just get the phone book, dear, and we can all start packing!" he said with the air of jolly Father Christmas.  
  
**  
  
Aunt Petunia looked down at the old and battered phone book Uncle Vernon had handed her happily. Flipping through the 'F' section, she finally located the entry for 'Figg, Arabella: 13 Cherry Lane'. Hands trembling slightly with nerves and excitement, she dialed the number and let it ring.  
  
Three rings in answering, Aunt Petunia was quite relieved when Mrs. Figg's cheery voice called, "Hello?"  
  
"Ah, Mrs. Figg? This is Petunia Dursley. You used to look after my nephew Harry....."  
  
"Oh, Petunia darling, you look lovely today!" came Arabella's reply. "When did you curl your hair like that, it's simply frabjous!"  
  
"Er....thank you, Mrs. Figg," Petunia said hesitantly, poking her blonde hair, which had been pulled into a bun. "Yes, well-"  
  
"Oh, it's so nice of you to write to me, Petunia darling, would you care for a spot of tea? Mr. Paws has been saying that he wanted to see you again, and I think he's such a sweet kitty, don't you agree?"  
  
Mouth hanging open, quite confused, Aunt Petunia slowly gathered her wits, "Well, yes, that's...er, that's very kind of Mr. Paws, but I need to ask you a favor, Mrs. Figg."  
  
"A favor? What kind of favor? I'm rather partial to chocolate, thank you very much."  
  
Abandoning politeness and roundabout methods, Petunia said in a desperate rush, "We're going away for a weekend, and we were wondering if you could take Harry for two days, Mrs. Figg! I know this is rather sudden, but we really need your help."  
  
"Oh, Hari-chan is still around, is he? Tufty was telling me just yesterday that he'd seen Hari-chan playing in the park two months ago!! He's only around seven years old, now, isn't he? Oh, he was such a sweet boy when he was little, always ate whatever I gave him, why, in fact, I could feed him Snowy, and Hari-chan wouldn't bat an eyelash! Only joking, Snowy, only joking!!"  
  
Losing patience, Aunt Petunia dropped airy-fairy ways of voicing her problem and said very slowly, "Mrs. Figg, could you please take Harry this weekend, starting tomorrow morning?" She was accentuating each word. "It would really help us. Please."  
  
"Of course I'll take Harry! I'll send Tibbles to pick him up tomorrow, and we'll have fun playing dress-up. Don't little girls like playing dress-up? I remember, when Mr. Paws was little..."  
  
**  
  
Harry sat watching Draco pack for his foray into unknown Muggle territory. Nervous was an understatement on the young Malfoy's part, and while Harry had calmed down impressively since the night before, this was just another worry on Draco's chest.  
  
"This is the one you blew up, isn't it, Potter? Should I take my wand, just in case? What about my Nimbus? I mean, you're taking your Firebolt to Figg's, and I might have to make a quick escape if I hex her, which I'm apt to do, I mean, you inflated her, and if you can't handle her, then I definitely won't be able to...."  
  
Definitely feeling lighter now that he had been given two entire days away from the Dursleys, Harry just laughed softly at his companion's mindset.  
  
It was true, though. Although the Dursleys remained unaware, Harry wasn't going anywhere without his Firebolt or his wand. Luckily, the overnight duffle bag he'd borrowed from Dudley was big enough to conceal the broom within. And if Harry's bag was surprisingly big, it was nothing to the one that Uncle Vernon had bought for Draco. The blonde was currently stuffing it with unnecessary clothes that would definitely not been worn in a two day period.  
  
"Oh, think it's funny, Harry?" Draco's voice was dangerous, and the way he spat out the name 'Harry' resulted in stifled laughter. "I can't believe this, of all the places Dumbledore could have hidden me, it had to be with Muggle zealots. And you," was his afterthought.  
  
Harry's laughter started again. "I'm a major burden then, am I, Malfoy? How do you think I felt when you showed up on MY doorstep all that time ago? At least I know how to deal with Muggles. And how to pack," he giggled, staring at the now overflowing duffle, in which every item of clothing in Draco's possession that was not a Hogwarts robe or wizard cloak was packed.  
  
"At least I have clothes of my own that fit to pack in the first place, Potter," Draco retorted.  
  
"Got me there." Harry continued sniggering to himself.  
  
"I can't believe this!" Draco burst out again. "Stop laughing, Harry! Help me pack, dammit, I've never used one of these bloody bags!"  
  
Still smiling with a happiness he hadn't felt in a while, Harry slid off the bed and slouched over to Draco, kneeling down and rearranging the contents into a more acceptable setting, all the while under Draco's watchful eye.  
  
But a knock on the door disturbed their rare moment of camaraderie. Before Harry could dive under Draco's bed or find another way of hiding, Aunt Petunia burst into the room.  
  
With a withering glance in her nephew's direction, she said, "Packing for Draki-Draco, are we? Very well, don't you dare let anything get wrinkled! We wouldn't Marge to see a Draco at less than his best!"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. Draco, at his less-than-best? Well, to do that, they'd need to turn him into a ferret again and bounce him all over Aunt Marge's large home.....  
  
Something of his thoughts must have lingered on his glazed, smiling face, for Aunt Petunia bit, "Don't smirk like that!" Feeling bolder than usual, and quite witty, she continued, "No wonder they beat you all the time at St. Brutus'! Now, Draco, come downstairs while he fixes your bag. I've got some lovely custard creams downstairs from the bakery."  
  
Draco smirked at Harry, and with a quick, "Mend that tear in my silk shirt while you're at it, Potter," he followed Aunt Petunia out the door and downstairs.  
  
As the door shut with a snap, Harry whispered, "Hope they don't have a Canary Cream concealed inside....or do I?"  
  
And laughing, he continued rolling Draco's clothes carefully and tidied up the bag for the impending trip.  
  
It was as he placed the last pair of dark wizard-made jeans in the bag and straightened up, stretching, that Harry noticed the piece of parchment folded on Draco's desk. Surreptitiously, he checked to make sure no one was coming back soon, and he whisked the parchment into his had and opened it.  
  
Immediately he saw it was a letter to Snape - so Draco was corresponding with him after all. But that wasn't what caught Harry's mind.  
  
No. It was the fact that Draco referred to Harry by his first name in a letter to Snape (of all people), how Draco defended Harry, how Draco seemed.....concerned about him, if Draco Malfoy could truly feel concern for another human being.  
  
Had Malfoy changed slightly? No, he couldn't. He wouldn't. But then.....just last night, hadn't Draco said....  
  
"Fine, we will skip the apologies!" Draco's voice echoed.  
  
Draco was going to apologize? That didn't sound like him at all. Not like the evil git Harry had known for four years.  
  
But Harry was saved further ponderings on the subject as the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs told him that someone, if not Draco himself, was coming. As fast as he could, he positioned the letter back as he remembered it having been, having learned that sort of discretion in Second Year in Filch's office.  
  
Sure enough, the door opened, and it was a trifle twitchy Draco who stood framed on the threshold. He was breathing deeply through his nostrils, but not loud enough to cover up the sound of the door being closed slightly harder than usual.  
  
"Potter," he said in a vain attempt at a casual air, "how...how in Merlin's name do you put up with them? They're nightmares from the deepest abyss of Hell! The stuff as much food down my throat as possible, they hug and drool all over me, and NOW they're telling me that this Marge is-" Here he uncannily imitated Aunt Petunia's sugary voice, "-she's such a delightful woman, Draco, and you'll be so glad you had the chance to meet her!!"  
  
With a noise of disgust and massaging his left temple, the distressed Slytherin walked over to the bed and collapsed onto it.  
  
Harry shook his head, and although he wanted to laugh, he couldn't bring himself to do so when both he and Draco were actually getting along for a change.  
  
Draco piped up again. "Why did you inflate her in the first place, Harry?"  
  
Allowing himself a grim smile, though his green eyes were flashing angrily at the memory, Harry said quietly, "I'm warning you now: she knows nothing of our world, Draco. She....she started poking fun at my parents, saying they were drunk, good-for-nothing layabouts, and that I was nothing more than a bastard child...."  
  
Looking absolutely repulsed, as if he could just see Aunt Marge, Draco spat, "You're practically Pureblooded, Potter, and you still tolerate these pathetic excuses of Muggles? How can you be so accepting of them? I told you, Potter," he said with a softened expression, "They'll be the first to go once Voldemort conquers all. Don't get attached to people like the Weasleys or Granger - at the rate things are going, you're only going to lose them in the end." His voice was dripping with bitterness.  
  
Harry opened his mouth, but no noise came out. Draco looked at him carefully, mirroring Harry's previous grim smile before continuing wearily.  
  
"As much as I've hated you for it...yes, I admit it, Potter," he said dangerously, as if daring Harry to relay this to anyone, "You're important, special, whatever you want to call it. Even if you and I both loathe stating that fact, someone needs to be this war's poster boy. But remember, Potter, I tried to save you, back in the beginning. I offered you friendship, I offered you protection from pain. Those Mudbloods and Muggle- lovers that you chose over me - they'll die, Potter, once Voldemort takes over. And you'll be left alone with me in the end, as you were meant to be."  
  
Eyes glued to Draco's face, Harry whispered slowly, "Why are you telling me this now? What am I supposed to do if you die as well, Malfoy? Where will I be then?"  
  
Brow furrowed in confusion as to how their relaxed moment had led to this seriousness, Harry said, "You claim to judge life based on its purity of blood, but look at Voldemort - I'm more of a Pureblood than he is, and look at all the things he's done, all the havoc he's wreaked! And you!! You pride yourself on being an elite Pureblood, yet you denied the Dark Mark and your prodigious acquaintance with Dark Arts. How different are you from Ron and Hermione?"  
  
Draco flinched at both names, but remained silent.  
  
"Even though you don't want to hear it, it's like Dumbledore said." As he spoke, Harry also recalled Mrs. Figg's words. "As long as we stand together against Voldemort, we have a chance. I'm not asking you to fight for the Muggles and Muggle-borns. Fight for yourself, Draco, if you want to protect what your so-called pure blood stands for. And just.....stay with me, please." Harry bit his bottom lip at having betrayed such weaknesses in front of Malfoy.  
  
There was a ringing silence before Draco said, "You need me that much, Potter?" He smirked a little, and whispered, "Well, you said that there's no need for promises, but....all right, I swear I won't hex your little Muggle Marge as long as she doesn't try to kiss me. I've got a nice phial of Bubotuber pus in my potion kit that she'd enjoy."  
  
Harry smiled, relieved that the tension hadn't resulted in another fight between them.  
  
Even though he'd been doing it on and off for three weeks, it finally felt normal to smile at Draco Malfoy, after four long years of scowls.  
  
Yes, things were definitely looking up.  
  
**  
  
Saturday morning found Petunia Dursley humming quietly to herself as she finished tidying up the already immaculate kitchen, getting all prepared for her short excursion into the countryside.  
  
Picking up the empty milk bottles from the counter, she sauntered out into the hall and proceeded down the foyer. Clutching the bottles in one hand, she pulled open the door, and breathed in the fresh air joyfully.  
  
"Nyao!!"  
  
Petunia shrieked in surprise and alarm as two of the bottles slipped from her grasp and shattered on the doorstep.  
  
"Nyao!!"  
  
Staring down in shock at the brown-and-white cat, who likewise was staring up at her, Aunt Petunia took in great gasping breaths, beginning to overcome her momentary fear. The cat simply blinked benignly up at her and grinned with another "Nyao!"  
  
Stooping to gather the shards of glass off the steps, Petunia noticed the gleaming nametag hanging off the cat's light blue collar: Tibbles.  
  
Mrs. Figg had been true to her word.  
  
The cat meowed more urgently, standing up while arching its back, and it made a movement as if to rub up against Petunia's leg. She back away convulsively, loathe to be touched by an animal, but as she did so, she noticed a piece of paper, rolled up and taped together, bearing the words "For Hari-chan". It was wedged under the cat's collar.  
  
Screwing up her minute courage, Aunt Petunia leant forward and, as quickly as she could, ripped the letter from the cat. She stared at it, quite bewildered, while the cat let out another yowl and began to purr, as though pleased with itself.  
  
Curious at the appearance of such a strange thing - why would Mrs. Figg want to write to Harry? - she began to finger the tape binding the roll. What was it for? Gently, she began to prise the tape up, but.....  
  
"Aunt Petunia?"  
  
Petunia shrieked for the second time and dropped the last milk bottle as a hand came to rest on her shoulder, but it was quickly withdrawn when Harry realized how much he'd startled his aunt.  
  
"So-sorry!" he stuttered, and before she could reprimand him, Harry raced to the cupboard under the stairs to fetch a broom and a dustpan. Returning shortly with both items, he sank apologetically to the floor and began to sweep up the mess. Aunt Petunia was looking daggers at him, and so to spite him, she ripped open the letter.  
  
~To The Sweetest Little Hari-chan  
  
We're going to buy lots of clothes to play dress-up with, so bring whatever money you have.  
  
Cuddles, Mrs. Figgy~  
  
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Mrs. Dursley snapped, "The Figg woman's a raving lunatic! 'Bring whatever money you have, Harry', indeed! 'We're playing dress-up'! How absolutely ridiculous!"  
  
Harry glanced up, perplexed. Mrs. Figg wanted him to bring money as well? What was she planning? For he knew that Mrs. Figg's feigned madness was only a ploy to confuse the likes of nosy Aunt Petunia, who would undoubtedly have read the note.  
  
However, and much to his surprise, Aunt Petunia snorted, but moved into the kitchen. Harry heard a zipper being undone, coins rattling, and as he remained crouched over the broken glass, Aunt Petunia returned to him, shoving a pound into his hand.  
  
"Don't expect more. I see no point in wasting money on new clothes for you. Now hurry up with that, and get your bag down here. The cat is waiting." She shot a pointed look at the cat, which was now cleaning itself on her front step.  
  
Harry brushed the last few shards into the dustpan and marched to the kitchen to dump the lot. Placing the broom back in the cupboard, he eagerly hurled himself upstairs and into his room where Draco was waiting, pacing.  
  
The blonde looked up as soon as Harry burst into the room. "What did the banshee shriek about? Knows how to make someone panic, doesn't she?"  
  
Smirking, Harry explained about the cat and the note. Draco's eyebrows were raised. "She wants you to bring money? Probably taking you out." He paused, and glanced at Hedwig's cage, where the snowy owl was sleeping quietly. "Listen, can you let me borrow Hedwig tonight? There's a message I want to send."  
  
Pretending to look politely puzzled, but unconcerned, Harry nodded, and the Slytherin slipped out of the room. Draco must've been talking about the letter to Snape.  
  
He returned quickly, indeed clutching the piece of parchment Harry had read yesterday. Acting as if he wasn't interested, Harry prodded a disgruntled, sleepy Hedwig awake, and within a few moments had tied the note to her leg.  
  
Both boys watching the owl soar out of sight into the morning sky, but soon turned to say their brief farewells.  
  
"Be careful, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. "If you do any magic on Aunt Marge, we're both screwed." Despite the seriousness of the situation, the two smiled at each other.  
  
"You better not have too much fun yourself, Potter," Draco muttered darkly.  
  
And before Harry could answer, the taller boy leant down and pressed his lips to Harry's.  
  
Surprised, yet nonetheless intrigued by the moment, Harry trailed a hand up Draco's side, and was rewarded by a shiver from the other boy. He felt Draco smile once against his mouth before the Slytherin's tongue pried Harry's lips open aggressively. Willingly succumbing to their new attraction, the two stood, reveling in all the places that their bodies touched, and Draco shuddered more convulsively as he felt Harry's hand stroke his face, run lightly up and down his forearm....  
  
Slowly, Draco moved his mouth down Harry's jaw line, placing delicate nips all the way to the raven-haired boy's neck. Finding a sensitive place, he carefully sucked, and finally bit down, almost melting as Harry sank into him with the sensation of painful pleasure. And then...  
  
"HARRY POTTER!! IF YOU'RE NOT DOWN HERE IN THIRTY SECONDS-"  
  
They broke apart reluctantly, and stared at each other, both flushed pink. Draco ended the tense silence by saying, "She really knows how to ruin good moments, doesn't she? Maybe I'll jinx her instead of the other one...."  
  
Harry laughed, kissed Draco lightly one last time, and then scooped up the duffle bag containing his Firebolt, wand, and clothes. At the doorway, he paused, and ran to his trunk. Ripping open the lid, he grabbed his jangling moneybag and shoved it in the duffle.  
  
As he reached the doorway for the second time, he stopped once again, turned, and smiled at Draco, his emerald eyes glimmering.  
  
"See you in a bit, then, Malfoy. Do try to stay in one piece, for me, at least."  
  
Draco nodded in agreement, but a satisfied smirk lingered on his lips. "The feeling's mutual, Potter."  
  
**  
  
The quick trip to Mrs. Figg's was uneventful, though Aunt Petunia's glowering face as she shoved Harry out the door was not a good omen to begin a promising weekend.  
  
Feeling utterly lighthearted in a way that he hadn't felt since before the Third Task, Harry knocked on Mrs. Figg's door while Tibbles went around the back into the garden, he assumed.  
  
It wasn't long before he was ushered into Arabella's home, right onto her lace-covered couch. Leaving his bag by the door, Harry relaxed into the comfort that could only be attained by being in a house where one was quite welcome.  
  
When Mrs. Figg returned from the kitchen bearing a tray of pumpkin juice and cauldron cakes, she said sternly, "I've got something to discuss with you, Mr. Potter."  
  
She was looking incredibly grave, but Harry had a feeling he knew what this was about. "Does everyone know about my little run-in with the Ministry?"  
  
Shooting him a penetrating glare, Mrs. Figg said, "Fudge and Peasegood know, so I wouldn't be surprised if a number of Ministry officials know. But Dumbledore found out, and he told me. Dobby did it, did you say? I don't believe a word of that, Harry."  
  
Sighing, Harry looked away and said, "I did a Memory Charm on Aunt Petunia. She....she caught Draco and I together, and....well, really, if she saw us together, it wouldn't take long for her to put two and two together and realize that Malfoy's not a respectable Muggle, like she thinks he is."  
  
"Together?" Mrs. Figg barked sharply. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
Blushing deeply, Harry stuttered, "Well, we...um, you see...er-"  
  
Raising both of her eyebrows, Mrs. Figg said, "Very well." His blush had told her everything that his 'ers' hadn't. "But you might want to wear a high cloak today in Diagon Alley. I'm sure your friends Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger wouldn't want to see that little red mark on your neck."  
  
Harry stared at Mrs. Figg, who smiled brightly. He regained composure momentarily, and whispered, "We're going to Diagon Alley? Ron....and Hermione are going to be there? How-"  
  
Grinning in way that said she was very pleased with herself, Arabella chimed, "Oh, as soon as your aunt called me and asked me to take you, I contacted Dumbledore. He sent me Hogwarts letters for both you and Draco, and I owled the Weasleys. We all agreed to meet there in the Leaky Cauldron today. You have your money on you, right? You got the letter from Tibbles?"  
  
Beginning to grin himself, Harry said, "Yeah, it's all in my bag! But....what about Draco? How's he getting his stuff?"  
  
"Well," said Mrs. Figg slowly, "It's no good to have him out in the open in Diagon Alley, and since we can't get money out of his own vault, Severus Snape offered to pay for him. I'll buy his things while you walk around with your friends."  
  
Sheepishly, Harry said, "I, um, don't have a cloak on me. How am I supposed to hide this?" He was deeply embarrassed as he pointed at the bite on his neck.  
  
Chortling, Arabella answered, I've got some Muggle makeup concealer. That's about the best I can offer you, though I must say, the thing would be a talking point if you just left it like that."  
  
Harry paled. "No way!"  
  
**  
  
Within half an hour, and after much of Harry's mixed outrage at Draco having marked him and his embarrassment at having to where makeup, the odd couple had helped themselves to Floo Powder (after Harry removed his glasses) and were off.  
  
The Leaky Cauldron was as dim and old-fashioned as ever, but brimming with some of the most interesting figures that were so characteristic of the wizarding world.  
  
Tom, polishing the wood counter of the bar, looked up curiously as Harry and Mrs. Figg came tumbling out of the gigantic fireplace, but smiled toothlessly at the sight of the Boy-Who-Lived and waved enthusiastically. Harry waved back at him, and, looking down, began wiping the soot off his Muggle clothes. Mrs. Figg did the same next to him.  
  
Harry hadn't gotten far at all when two blurs bellowing his name hit him with such force and momentum that the Golden Trio landed in a heap on the sooty hearth of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace. Buried under the tangle of arms and legs that was Ron, and feeling that Hermione was liable to choke him with her arms gripped around his neck, Harry glanced up and saw the blurred red hair that could only be the Weasley family beaming down at him.  
  
"Now, Ron, be careful, or you'll suffocate poor Harry!!" Mrs. Weasley chided her youngest son, though her voice remained buoyant, and her dimples stood out quite clearly, as far as Harry could tell in the candlelight without his glasses.  
  
It was the twins who thankfully came to Harry's rescue, forcibly lifting their brother and Hermione off their best friend. Hermione was the main problem - her hands were so tightly wound around Harry's neck that Harry was personally sure she would be permanently attached to his body. Fred manage to prise her off in the end, and bodily dragged her over a few feet away to where George was restraining the much taller Ron.  
  
With Mrs. Figg's arm under his elbow, Harry gingerly resumed a standing position, wincing as he felt the pain in his back muscles where the flagged stones of the hearth had dug in.  
  
"Hello to you, too," he joked.  
  
Once he was on his feet, the smirking twins released their captives, and Harry soon found himself surrounded by his two dearest, yet currently inquisitive, companions; this time, they were much more wary of knocking him over, luckily.  
  
"Sorry 'bout that, mate," Ron said apologetically, but as he looked down at Harry, he couldn't remove his addictive goofy grin from his features.  
  
Hermione, bouncing up and down on the balls her feet, wasn't about to let Ron keep Harry all to himself. In fact, Harry had rarely seen Hermione's excitement reach such a pitch, even during the months when she spent her days rattling around with her box of S.P.E.W. badges.  
  
"Oh, Harry," she began breathlessly, "You look so good!! Oh, I'm so glad you're safe and OK!!"  
  
She made as if to capture him in another collarbone-fracturing embrace, but Harry, quite apart from not wanting to be strangled again, had caught a flicker of a scowl on Ron's face at Hermione's antics, and so he backed up, throwing up his arms in self-defense.  
  
Laughing, he said, "It's just me, Mione! I told you, what, two days ago that I was fine, and things haven't changed!"  
  
Hermione looked skeptical. Was it possible that even the Weasleys knew about his run-in with Fudge?  
  
Biting back his worry, he said cajolingly, "Look, Ron's not altogether flipped, so calm down, Mione! Just me...."  
  
"What he means," Fred started, speaking for the first time, "Is that he's fine so long as you two back up, let him breathe, and-"  
  
"Let us say hello first!!" George finished pompously.  
  
Without further ado, the twins pushed roughly past Ron and Hermione, and within moments had dropped to their knees, prostrating themselves on the ground before Harry.  
  
Not even the tiniest trace of a smirk visible on either identical freckled face, Fred and George began bowing up and down, booming out praise for Harry in earshot of the entire pub.  
  
"All hail the mightiest Seeker!"  
  
"All hail the new joke shop guinea pig leader!"  
  
"All hail the -"  
  
"Boys, that is quite ENOUGH!!" Mrs. Weasley gasped out, though she was quite the only one showing feelings of anger and disbelief. Even Hermione seemed relaxed about - although somewhat guilty - having enjoyed the twins' display. Ron, as usual, was laughing furiously, and his blue eyes twinkled when Harry met them.  
  
"They've been practicing that since yesterday, Mum!" protested another voice. "After all their hard work -"  
  
"When they could have been doing schoolwork with their N.E.W.T.S coming up, Ginny? No, that's absolutely unacceptable! I may have agreed to the joke shop, but this!!"  
  
Harry looked past Ron and Mrs. Weasley, and saw the youngest Weasley standing slightly apart from her family, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping irritably.  
  
Ginny's appearance came as something of a shock to Harry. He remembered Ginny, his best friend's little sister, as being small, quiet, reserved. But now, his widened eyes took in her shorter hair, cut up past chin level, her long red tresses gone. She seemed to be taller, though as she obviously couldn't have grown that much in three weeks, Harry realized he must have missed it in the excitement of the last term. She was wearing grey robes, but they were open in front, revealing a low-necked shirt that absolutely accentuated her curves.  
  
But the most surprising thing was that, when he locked eyes with the speechless Harry, she smiled genuinely at him. Without the shy deep-red blush Harry was so accustomed to.  
  
However, he had hardly noticed this new girl of fourteen before Ron had grabbed his by the arm and was steering him over to the back door, which would take the group out into the courtyard separating the inn from Diagon Alley.  
  
"Yeah, that's Ginny," Ron whispered in his ear. "Percy, Charlie, and I aren't too happy about it, but Bill and the twins say she's old enough to, uh, express herself. She's got her eyes only on you though, mate, so I'm not too worried."  
  
Hermione, not having heard any of the exchange, queried, "You have your Hogwarts letter, don't you, Harry?" She was almost sounding like her normal bossy self.  
  
"Hang on," Harry replied, "Mrs. Figg has it." He doubled back through the gaggle of Weasleys to where Arabella was conversing with a still glowering Molly, Ginny hovering aloofly next to them. Harry caught a little of what they were saying.  
  
"Anything you need to get here today? I'm sure the children can take care of themselves, so why don't we stick together?"  
  
"Oh, I just have a few items to pick up, doing Dumbledore a favor," Mrs. Figg said confidingly. "A poor Muggleborn student broke his leg a few days ago, and as he's in no condition to come and get his school things himself, Dumbledore asked if I could do it. Well, I know what it's like to be bedridden like that-" Mrs. Weasley clucked sympathetically "-So I couldn't refuse."  
  
Arabella pulled out the two Hogwarts letters and waved them.  
  
Harry stepped forward and asked, "Can I have mine? We'll go faster if we split up, and Ron and Mione-" He jerked his thumb suggestively back at his friends, who were waiting by the now-open archway.  
  
Fond smiles emanating from both motherly faces, Harry found himself being presented with a folded parchment letter bearing the Hogwarts crest. The envelope had no name, and Harry supposed Dumbledore must have sneaked the two out of McGonagall's stock and sent them to Mrs. Figg himself, in order to save odd questions should the envelope's surname "Malfoy" be noticed by the Weasleys.  
  
Taking it with a word of thanks, Harry turned and bounded joyfully back to his smiling friends.  
  
"I'm telling you now, if I find out any of you went down Knockturn Alley...." Mrs. Weasley threatened, and Harry, who besides having no wish to check out the Dark Arts street, knew Molly was dead serious.  
  
**  
  
Sitting outside Florean Fortiscue's was indeed comfortable, the shade under the large umbrellas shielding them from the sun most welcome. The three were conversing quietly, large bags filled with their shopping propped up against their chairs.  
  
"So.....your mum is going through with the joke shop idea the twins have?" Harry was quite pleased that his money was indeed being used for the purpose he had hoped for.  
  
Hermione looked stern, and bit, "You have no idea, Harry. Living with them is a nightmare! I've been at the Burrow for all of three days, and Fred and George are having the time of their lives pulling pranks on someone not as familiar with their tricks as the rest of the family. They dyed my hair bright green yesterday by feeding me a hexed apple!"  
  
Ron injected happily, "Oh yeah, those are the Aesthetic Adornment Apples! Change your hair to match the color of the apple, Ginny came up with the name." Hermione glared at Ron.  
  
"Did you take pictures?" Harry asked urgently, grinning evilly at Hermione.  
  
"No, the girl sprinted upstairs and shut herself in her and Ginny's room and went through every book in her trunk until she found a spell to undo it. Mione really didn't need to waste all that time reading though," Ron said, chuckling, "'Cause it wears off after twenty-four hours anyway. You could have seen her yourself if she hadn't figured out how to take it off."  
  
Hermione, not at all pleased with the direction in which their conversation was heading, immediately changed the subject. "How's this....girlfriend....of yours doing, Harry?"  
  
Flushing slightly, Harry applied himself to his melting banana icecream, yet said quietly, "I don't know what you're talking about, Hermione Granger."  
  
"Oh, is that so?" she said scathingly. "Then how did you get that little mark on your neck? I've been meaning to ask you since we were in Flourish and Blotts, but you and Ron were having such fun with the wizard coloring book display that it skipped my mind."  
  
Clapping a hand to his neck over the spot just below his left ear, Harry stared wildly from a smug Hermione to a Ron trying to crane his head to see the mark. Of course! When Hermione had grabbed him around his neck, she must have wiped the concealer off....  
  
"This Moemi isn't just a garden snake, is she, Harry?"  
  
"Maybe not, Bubbles," Harry admitted, though with a hint of nastiness in his voice that just screamed, 'Ask me one more question, and I spit poison!"  
  
"Oh, leave him alone, Mione!" Ron came to his aid, but with a touch of jealous impatience towards Harry. "If he doesn't want to talk about it, wait till he does. It's not like he's fooling around with a Slytherin or something."  
  
Harry blanched, but Hermione and Ron took it as his reaction to the thought of being near enough to a Slytherin to fool around with.  
  
Jokingly, Ron said to Harry, "Like the Asians, do you?"  
  
Feigning indifference, Harry said, "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Weasley.....and while we're on the subject of relationships, when are you going to take a look at Her-"  
  
But he was cut off as a pair of hands suddenly covered his eyes, and sightless, he let out a startled exclamation.  
  
"Guess who, Harry! Can you guess who I am?"  
  
"Geroff, Colin! You bloody scared him!" came Ron's voice impatiently.  
  
"Not until he guesses who I am!"  
  
Harry spoke up, trying to see through the fingers wrapped around his eyes. "Um, hi, Colin....having a nice summer, I expect?"  
  
Colin let go of Harry's face and said disappointedly, "He got me on the first try....."  
  
Shooting Ron a look nothing short of immense exasperation, Harry said, "Keep trying, Colin, I'm sure you'll fool me one day. Um, here buying your school stuff, I guess?"  
  
"Of course! Dennis and Emma are in Ollivander's trying out wands - my little sister Emma's starting, too!! My dad's so excited, naturally! Just hope she's in Gryffindor, right?"  
  
Hermione directed pointedly suppressing looks at Ron and Harry, and asked cautiously, "Just exactly how many siblings do you have, Colin?"  
  
The entire Golden Trio crossed their fingers under the table.  
  
"Well, it's just the three of us, really. I wish I had loads of siblings like you, Ron!" Colin ended enthusiastically. "That must be so much fun, with everyone being magical."  
  
"Anytime you feel like having green hair for a day or being lectured on cauldron bottoms....." Ron trailed off.  
  
"Or having your teddy bear turned into a giant spider," Hermione reminded Ron, giggling.  
  
"Or having your pet Puffskein used for Bludger practice," said Harry, fighting a battle between amusement and pity.  
  
"You can take my place, Colin," Ron finished dramatically.  
  
Colin's eyes shone with unsurpassable excitement. "Really? You mean it? I can come?"  
  
Watching Ron roll his eyes, Harry just gave silent thanks that they'd forgotten about Draco's little token of affection.  
  
Colin ambled off shortly to find his siblings, promising to introduce Emma as soon as possible (Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted to introduce her to Harry or to the scar), his face glowing with the prospect of trading places with Ron.  
  
"What's the betting," Ron whispered across the table, "That he owls me tomorrow asking to come to the Burrow?"  
  
"Better you and Hermione than me and D-" Harry cut off sharply at his mistake, but not quickly enough.  
  
"'D'? Harry, it's 'D'?" Nope, Hermione hadn't forgotten, and judging by his sniggers, Ron hadn't either.  
  
"No," a very red Harry bit, "'D' equals 'Dudley'. Are you suggesting-"  
  
"Urgh, no way, Harry, OK, we get the point!!" Ron was obviously not too keen to discuss that particular subject.  
  
Hermione laughed, but her eyes remained shrewd. She began gathering up her bags, and the boys, one disgruntled, one flushed, did the same.  
  
They had barely gone two steps from Florean Fortescue's when a most unwelcome sight hit theirs eyes.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle were shuffling stupidly up the crowded alleyway, the two of them together cutting a swathe nearly as wide as Hagrid.  
  
"Oh, look mates, it's the chickens, but where's their head?" Ron said loudly, but Harry backed up.  
  
Although he wished he could have told Ron to be quiet and not to draw attention to themselves, although he wished to scream to the entire street that there were two mini-Death Eaters in broad daylight, he couldn't convey this to either Ron or Hermione without arousing suspicion. He settled for the 'pretend to be disgusted and don't waste your time' ploy.  
  
"Ron, leave them, let's just-"  
  
But it was too late. Crabbe and Goyle had spotted the Trio, and with a dimmed maliciousness, they began to head towards Fortescue's where Ron, Harry, and Hermione stood standing, stopping only feet from them.  
  
Ron, feeling very bold and liking his present upper-hand in the situation, continued, "So you're out without that little piece of scum, Malfoy, today, are you? Finally realized you could think for yourselves, have you?"  
  
But they ignored Ron. Grinning evilly, Crabbe asked petulantly, "Seen Malfoy lately, Potty?"  
  
However, he'd obviously said something wrong, because Goyle elbowed him and said, "We don't know, right? Remember?"  
  
"Don't know what?" Hermione said, half-curious, half-impatient.  
  
"Where Malfoy is!" Crabbe said proudly, having answered a question correctly for once in his life. He was staring pointedly in Harry's direction.  
  
Hermione shot a quick, quizzical look at Harry, but his face was as impassive as a rock. Indeed, his jaw was so tightly shut that she was surprised when he managed to open it and say to his friends, "Come on, leave them to their shopping."  
  
And without another word, he turned away, marching in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. Ron and Hermione followed, though both looked worried.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle just stood and sniggered after them, but soon disappeared in the crowd.  
  
**  
  
Harry remained rather quiet for the rest of the afternoon, preferring to let Hermione and Ron do all the talking. He was rather unaware of the strain on his friends, as both of them fought the urge to ask him what was really going on. The red mark on Harry's neck, the few strange words Crabbe and Goyle had managed to say, and about all the stress that Harry still probably carrying from the night of the Third Task...  
  
It was an extremely subdued Golden Trio that said their farewells that evening in the Leaky Cauldron.  
  
"Come and stay if you can, Harry," Ron urged. "I promise," he said with an evil glance in the twins' direction, "That I'll make sure they don't feed you anything.....unnatural."  
  
"Couldn't have done the same for me, could you?" said Hermione snappishly, but it was with a much softer expression that she turned to Harry.  
  
"Take care of yourself, Harry. Ron's right, we're both close by if you need us. Just relax, do some schoolwork....."  
  
"Ah, the wise words of Dr. Granger - do schoolwork, and all your problems will disappear in a cloud of runes and Arithmancy numbers and potion ingredients," Ron laughed.  
  
Harry cracked a small smile at that, and both of his friends noticed. Maybe there was hope after all.  
  
**  
  
Mrs. Figg dropped a number of parcels into Harry's lap as he sat on her couch watching TV that evening with a preoccupied air.  
  
"There you go, pack those in your bag - Mr. Malfoy's things. I hope you have enough room in there with that broomstick of yours in there."  
  
She watched him stand wearily, marching over to his bag and dropping the contents inside messily, as if he hardly noticed what he was doing.  
  
Frowning, she said quietly, "What's wrong, Harry? You've been quiet all afternoon."  
  
Turning slowly, Harry scrutinized Mrs. Figg carefully, as though noticing her for the first time that night. But his gaze was not held much longer. Dropping his eyes to the ground, he said in a rush, "I....I think the Death Eaters found out about where Draco is."  
  
Eyes open in alarm, Arabella said, "How can you be sure? Harry, this is serious! What do you know?"  
  
Starting to feel flutters of panic, Harry explained about what Crabbe and Goyle had said - or not said.  
  
One hand over her mouth, Mrs. Figg said shortly, "I have to owl Dumbledore about this immediately. Harry, let me take you upstairs to your room, and try to get some sleep."  
  
Harry nodded wearily. He'd worry about the Death Eaters and Draco tomorrow.  
  
Or at least, that's what he thought he'd do, but the sudden exploding, blinding pain his scar as he took the first two steps towards the staircase put an end to that argument.  
  
~~  
  
Reviews are appreciated, and much thanks is given in return!!  
  
"Hari-" is just how you say and spell "Harry" in Japanese. "Chan" is an affectionate ending usually used on children and girls. "Hari-chan" is actually what one of my friends, who adores him, calls Harry. 


	12. Mitsuketa

OK, chapters are few and far between, gomen nasai. And I'm worried....this is basically a Fifth Year fic, but it's most definitely not going to be finished before the real Fifth Year starts in just one month with the publication of the Order of the Phoenix. I'm not the only one out there writing or reading Fifth Year fics, but they're definitely going to suffer a severe drop in popularity on June 21st. I'm going to keep writing, and I just hope you will keep reading.  
  
So, enter mayhem and madness, this chapter, with a dash of Marauders.  
  
Me. Write. Fun. No. Money. No. Own.  
  
~~  
  
With a shriek, Mrs. Figg raced over to where Harry had crumpled, to where he was writhing on the floor and whimpering in pain. Throwing herself on the carpet besides the curled-up form, she sat through a moment of hesitance and quick thinking, but soon scooped Harry into her arms hastily and heaved the small boy up the stairs as hurriedly as she could while carrying a body racked with spasms.  
  
At the landing, Arabella paused for a moment to catch her breath and gather her wits. Something was wrong - this wasn't a normal vision, she knew that. Harry's normal visions only came when Harry was asleep, according to Dumbledore's suspicions. If Harry could feel Voldemort's presence while he was awake, it had to mean that Voldemort was close by, possibly closing in for a kill.  
  
These thoughts led her to forcefully kick open the door of her guestroom, much more in the fashion of some martial artist than an elderly witch, and it was on the plain brown bed that she carefully deposited her burden.  
  
Without looking at Harry out of fear that she would lose her nerve in panic, the witch strode resolutely to the window, removing her wand from her apron pocket to perform a Locking Charm and a Disillusionment one as well, so that any person, Muggle or Death Eater alike, would see nothing more than an empty bed and room should they look through the window. Turning back to her charge, she bit her lip in confusion.  
  
Should she leave him in pain? Should she stun him for now, and save him torture equal to that of the Cruciatus?  
  
One thing was for sure, though, and that was that she needed help right now if Lord Voldemort was nearby. She most certainly wasn't going to receive any from Harry. Deciding fast, she jogged to the open door and out into the landing. There was nothing she could do to help her Harry right now, other than protecting him from Voldemort. Thus she shut the door quietly, once more carefully performing the locking charm.  
  
Whipping around, she threw herself down the stairs into the living room once more, and grabbed one of the numerous jars off the mantelpiece. Taking a pinch of green powder from within, she threw it into the already burning flames with a quick, "Remus! Black! Get over here now, we've got problems, Harry is-"  
  
But she never needed to finish the sentence, for immediately, a blurred figure began revolving in the green flames, and soon Sirius tumbled ungainly out of the fireplace.  
  
Standing up dizzily, the Animagus cried sharply, "Where is he, Figg? What's going on?!"  
  
"He's upstairs in the spare bedroom, having a fit with his scar - where's Lupin?" Arabella responded frantically.  
  
"Coming now," Sirius said, pointing at the fireplace, where a new figure was spinning rapidly like a tornado. "Did you lock the door?" he said shrewdly.  
  
"Yes, and only I can take off the spell, so wait a moment before you blow up my house in an attempt to get to him!" she said as Lupin stepped out of the fireplace, stumbling in his haste.  
  
"Mrs. Figg, what's happened?" he said in an urgent voice, and his face was drawn and pale.  
  
"Something's wrong, Harry started convulsing, pain in his scar while he was awake. Dumbledore said it should only do that when Voldemort is near, and if he is-"  
  
"First let's see to Harry," Sirius growled, "And then we can go after that son of a-"  
  
He was cut off by an echoing BOOM which shook the windows and floor of the house, threatening to toss all three to the ground, and, from up above, one long heart-rending scream of pain could be heard.  
  
"Harry!" Sirius shouted, and without a second thought, he sprinted upstairs, Arabella and Remus hot on his heels.  
  
At the landing, Arabella pushed her way to the front of the group, and, raising her wand at the guestroom door, panted out, "A-Alohomora!!"  
  
Not knowing what to expect as the door swung open, his guardians were torn between shock and relief to find only Harry in there, now twisting on the floor where he'd dropped from the bed. Sirius launched himself with a strangled yell at his godson, cradling the trembling body to his own.  
  
Remus, though, was more concerned with the light streaming in through Harry's window - flickering green and orange in the distance. Hastily, he said, "Sirius, stay with Harry. I think...I think the Death Eaters attacked Privet Drive, expecting him to be there. Come on, Arabella, let's go and see if we can....if there's anything we can do."  
  
Returning to the doorway, he whispered to the witch, "Lock them in with the most powerful charm you know. Sirius can be very dangerous when the people he loves are threatened, and he's bound to do something rash should someone try to attack Harry in there."  
  
**  
  
As the door closed and the lock clicked, Sirius carefully picked up the twitching Harry, laying him gently back on the bed. Sirius himself sat precariously on the edge, staring transfixed at his godson, pale eyes drawn to the heaving chest and white face, canine ears picking up each throbbing moan and whimper of pain.  
  
That bastard Voldemort....His mere presence tortured Harry, connected as they were. And of all the days for this to happen - it had to be Harry's fifteenth birthday, today. He'd been through so much more, suffered so much more than a fifteen-year-old should. And Voldemort....Voldemort was out for revenge on nothing more than a wounded child wanting affection. That the most dangerous Dark Wizard anyone could recall having existed found his greatest pleasure in hunting children was revolting.  
  
Unbidden, images leapt to the front of his mind, a house destroyed, a best friend lying lifeless under the rubble, a screaming baby clutched in his dead mother's arms....  
  
Shuddering involuntarily, Sirius shifted Harry's head so that it was resting in Sirius' lap, and in a fatherly manner, he brushed aside the hair damp with sweat from where it was clinging to Harry's forehead and the one hand still persistently pawing his lightning scar. The other hand Sirius held, and his tears mingled with the beading sweat on Harry's face as the grip tightened and relaxed between Harry's convulsions.  
  
**  
  
Racing through the dark streets were more people than just Remus Lupin and Arabella Figg. Indeed, even though both clutched wands openly, the residents of the streets neighboring Privet Drive bore no concern for the two hurrying figures, even the one wearing the shabby cloak.  
  
No, all Muggle attention was fixed on the blaze at Number Four Privet Drive, and at those...fireworks in the sky. The pretty glittering stars that resembled a haunting skull and serpent were unrecognizable to the untrained Muggle eye.  
  
Lupin and Arabella came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive, for they could go no further. Muggle police and the fire department, having responded quickly, had already roped off the area, allowing none near the raging flames. The witch and wizard could only stare helplessly at the scene, just part of the crowd of neighbors and news reporters gathered, all snapping pictures or gazing openmouthed at the violent fiery destruction of Number Four.  
  
But that didn't mean that they were the only wizards present, and it became clear when that other wizard - a tall, balding, red-haired wizard - vaulted the barrier and hurled himself toward the firemen as fast as his long legs could carry him.  
  
"Arthur!" Arabella screeched upon recognizing him, but to no avail. As words weren't working, she and Lupin followed Arthur Weasley's example, breaking free from the crowd and barricade, and running after him towards the burning building. Looking up as they came closer, it was in time to see a burst of white-hot sparks shoot out one of the second story windows with a fizz - something magical had just been consumed by the flames.  
  
Just outside the garden wall they stopped, where Mr. Weasley was being restrained by four policemen, though he was fighting with every ounce of strength he could muster to beat them off, screaming, "My son's best friend is in there! He's in there, let me get Harry!! I can get him out, please!! It's Harry Potter, damn you, now let go!!"  
  
Extra police were now surrounding Arabella and Remus, hoping to apprehend them as well and drag them off the scene. One man in uniform seized Mrs. Figg's arm roughly, but she wasn't giving up without a fight, and most certainly not without Mr. Weasley.  
  
"Arthur!!" Mrs. Figg called imploringly. "Arthur, over here, now, hurry!!"  
  
Mr. Weasley turned his panic-stricken face, and, catching sight of his fellow wizards, made another plea. "Help me get Harry out of there, Arabella!! He has to be alive in there, help me get him!!"  
  
But the policemen had finally overpowered him, and were now dragging the dazed, yet struggling Mr. Weasley back to the barrier. Arabella and Remus followed meekly with a much smaller entourage.  
  
Pushed unceremoniously back into the crowd, Mrs. Figg and Lupin immediately grabbed the back of Arthur's cloak as he turned to make another wild escape back to Number Four, and together they proceeded to push him through the throng and out.  
  
However, they were hampered on the way. Muggle news reporters, no doubt having witnessed Arthur Weasley's fight, were eager for an interview.  
  
"Excuse me, sir, you say your son's best friend is in there? A boy named Harry? Harry Potter? Are there any survivors? Please comment! Sir!"  
  
Arthur, slumped with exhaustion, shock, and despair, did not answer, but rather only allowed himself to be propelled through the mass of people and out back. Indeed, they had nearly made it to Mrs. Figg's house, chased for a few minutes by reporters, until he spoke at all.  
  
"Oh my God....what am I going to tell my children? What am I going to tell them? And Molly? You-Know-Who....why didn't anyone know this was going to happen? God, Harry..."  
  
Feeling the strain nearly as much as Mr. Weasley, Arabella replied soothingly nonetheless. "You'll tell them that he's quite all right, dear. Harry's fine, Arthur, he wasn't in the attack, that's why we came to get you."  
  
Spinning around sharply, tugging himself free of their grasp, Arthur, eyes nearly popping with anxiety and stress, cried disbelievingly, "He's fine? Where is he? You....You-Know-Who didn't find him?!"  
  
Patting his arm gently on the arm, Arabella whispered, "Yes, yes, he's alive, and that's what counts. I'll explain once we get inside, gesturing suggestively towards her house. "He's upstairs with Sirius Black."  
  
If she thought that would calm Mr. Weasley down, she was proven wrong as Arthur's eyes bulged even further, his voice squeaking, "You left him with Sirius Black? I....I know from Molly that Dumbledore trusts him, but you left Harry with a convicted murderer from You-Know-Who's circle?"  
  
At a loss for words, and further allowing himself through shock to be dragged into Mrs. Figg's living room, Mr. Weasley was shoved in an armchair, where Remus was seriously considering binding him to prevent him from injuring himself or anyone else. At the moment, the red-headed wizard was stuttering uncontrollably, clearly distressed.  
  
Noticing this, as it was rather obvious, Mrs. Figg pointed out a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey in the living room hutch to Remus, indicating that he should both serve himself and do what he could for Arthur. Getting the message across, she quietly hurried away upstairs as Lupin moved in the general direction of the Firewhiskey.  
  
Pausing at the door just off the landing, Arabella pressed an ear to the wood.  
  
Silence. Utter silence.  
  
Feeling the flutters of panic returning, she once more whispered, "Alohomora!" The door swung open, and Mrs. Figg, walking in slowly and silently, drew in a deep breath at the sight.  
  
Godfather and godson alike were fast asleep, hands clutched together, with Harry's head resting in Sirius' lap and Sirius himself slumped against the wall. Both chests were rising and falling peacefully, and although Harry's free hand was still resting near his forehead, it was no longer scratching his face in order to quell pain in his scar.  
  
The scar itself was an interesting point. Dried blood was clotted around it, and although it most certainly must have faded since the attack, the color of the weal remained a dark throbbing red.  
  
Inquisitive, Arabella moved forward and, standing over the resting Harry and Sirius, bent down to get a closer look at the infamous scar. In doing so, as she peered curiously at the mark, a silver chain necklace dangling from her throat dropped lightly onto Harry's pale face.  
  
The boy woke with another violent yell of fright that could have caused the dead to rise.  
  
Within milliseconds, Arabella felt a tight hand groping for a good hold around her neck, but the hand was quickly withdrawn through recognition, and Harry's labored breathing slowed noticeably.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Figg?!" Sirius spat out. "Don't scare us like that!" He was drawing breath quickly and raggedly.  
  
Mrs. Figg slid to her knees, massaging the bit of neck that Sirius had managed to latch onto. She looked up and smiled weakly at the jumpy pair.  
  
Meanwhile, Harry had sat up with amazing speed that was enough to startle Sirius again, but being oblivious to his godfather's disconcertion, the Boy- Who-Lived-Yet-Again stared around wildly. "What...What's happened? Where's Draco? Why's Sirius here?"  
  
A sudden noise at the door came before Sirius' reply. The three already in the room looked up to see Remus and a panicky Mr. Weasley standing on the threshold, no doubt alerted by Harry's shout.  
  
Before Harry could say a word of greeting, Mr. Weasley had flung himself across the room, gathering the dazed Harry into a tight embrace.  
  
"Harry my lad, you had us all so worried!! Thank Merlin you're safe, thank Merlin, boy! What a fright!"  
  
A growl issued menacingly from Sirius' throat. "Watch how you handle him, Arthur Weasley, he's delicate!"  
  
Harry's muffled indignant voice came over Mr. Weasley's shoulder. "How many times do I have to say that I am NOT delicate!!"  
  
"Of course you're not," came the instant reply from Sirius, Arabella, and Lupin simultaneously.  
  
All at once, the stress of the night's events seemed to lift dramatically - Harry was safe, and quite his normal, sane self. Lupin laughed softly at Harry's indignation, remembering how touchy Harry was about his strengths and weaknesses, and even Sirius managed to crack a crooked grin.  
  
Mr. Weasley reluctantly released Harry from his grip, and the boy slid back onto the bed. "What exactly happened, Sirius? Mrs. Figg?.....All I remember is that I was supposed to go upstairs, and my scar started hurting....I remember-" his voice choked here "-I think I remember seeing Voldemort's face, but I was in so much pain that I just....I don't know what's going on. Where's Dr-"  
  
Harry, realizing Mr. Weasley was hanging on his every word, backtracked and said, "Where are the Dursleys?"  
  
The four adults exchanged commiserating glances, though Arthur Weasley knew only half of what was going on behind the serious expressions that the others, like he, wore. Mrs. Figg was the first to speak, and she did so gently.  
  
"Harry, the Dursleys are fine as far as we know. The Death Eaters and, apparently, Voldemort attacked Privet Drive, expecting you to be there. You- your house was destroyed, all your things gone. Looks like we'll need to do another Diagon Alley adventure."  
  
She tried to smile again, but she was feeling quite miserable; explaining the truth was a lot harder than she thought it would be.  
  
"Hedwig!! She...." Harry heaved two deep breaths, one stricken, one of relief, and said, "That's right....I sent her off with a letter this morning....but.....but how did Voldemort get to Privet Drive? The Fidelius....."  
  
"What this means, Harry," Arthur said slowly, "Is that someone - or a number of someones - at the Ministry are working for You-Know-Who, or are a little too short-sighted-" he grimaced "-to realize that they associate with and daily pass information to the Death Eaters."  
  
There was a small pause before Mr. Weasley continued, "I had to work late tonight, and so I heard about the attack right away. I actually managed to get out before the Aurors and the Hit Wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement did. I....when I saw the house, and the Dark Mark...."  
  
He trailed off, clearly reliving the pain and terror he'd felt earlier. "I thought you were dead for sure. And all I could think about was what I was going to have to tell Ron...."  
  
Harry looked away, a familiar prickling in his eyes. Ron....he hadn't thought of Ron. His first worry had been Draco.  
  
What had happened to the rival Slytherin and Gryffindor?  
  
Said Gryffindor found his thoughts cut off though, as the adults began speaking again, and he was drawn back into the present. Silently, he sat and listened.  
  
"All that remains to be done is to contact Dumbledore and see where we're going to put Harry for the rest of the summer," Mrs. Figg said calmly.  
  
Mr. Weasley immediately voiced his opinion with a slightly uncomfortable look at Sirius and Remus. "I'm sure we could take him at the Burrow - there'll be enough wizards around so that he'll be quite protected, wouldn't you think?"  
  
"It's impossible, Arthur," Lupin said carefully, choosing his words. "If Harry wasn't at Privet Drive, I'm sure the next place the Death Eaters will think to hit is the Burrow. After all, it's not much of a secret that Harry is your son's best friend. In fact, we may have to put your own house under the Fidelius now," he ended unhappily.  
  
"No, the Burrow is far too obvious a target," Arabella agreed.  
  
"I feel quite the same," came a new voice, and all five wizards jumped with a simultaneous yelp - Sirius had even tumbled off the bed, but he was on his feet quicker than a panther.  
  
Albus Dumbledore stood silhouetted in the doorway, wearing a grave, if not even bitter, expression. Harry had rarely ever seen such a look on Dumbledore's features. Upon seeing the fright scrawled across the other faces, a brief smile flickered at the corners of Dumbledore's mouth, but it vanished all too quickly.  
  
"Albus!!" Mrs. Figg breathed faintly, her hand at her heart, "Of all the times to sneak up on people! Do you realize-"  
  
"Please accept my apologies, Bella. I arrived too hastily to announce my presence properly, do forgive me. However, I do believe we ought to carry on with your previous conversation more than we need discuss my abrupt intrusion."  
  
He heaved a short sigh, and continued, straightening his wrinkled midnight blue robe absentmindedly.  
  
"Now that Voldemort has made an express attempt to find Harry - a very violent, destructive attempt - we must find a suitable home with an experienced sorcerer who can handle his reputation and the ensuing attempts on his life."  
  
Dumbledore ended rather blandly, and looked around pointedly at each of the adults.  
  
"Well then, if you just put the Fidelius on the Burrow, Dumbledore, we can take him," Mr. Weasley began at once excitedly, but he was cut off.  
  
"There are more lives at stake than just Harry's, Weasley," Sirius bit impatiently. Arthur shot him a quizzical look, but Sirius covered the awkwardness of the moment by saying, "Don't you have the Granger girl living with you as well? No, it's too open, too risky. Personally, I think Remus and I could take him."  
  
He looked pleadingly at his old friend.  
  
"And put Harry Potter in the hands of a convicted murderer likely to hand him back over to Voldemort?" Mr. Weasley snorted, beadily eyeing Black.  
  
Sirius sneered, looking around at the other adults while gesticulating angrily and saying, "And he says there are OTHER wizards at the Ministry with short-sightedness!"  
  
"I think," Remus said shortly, trying to prevent a fist-fight, "That although I have no objections to taking him, Harry would be safest right under Voldemort's nose. Now, I know neither Harry nor Sirius would like this suggestion, but Severus Snape could-"  
  
"That's plausible, Remus," Dumbledore said mildly. The old wizard moved further into the room, closing the door behind him. "But we still have our other little.....escapee.....to worry about. It is too much to hope that Severus can keep both of them when the Death Eater meetings are occasionally held in Snape's own manor."  
  
Mr. Weasley looked quite puzzled, but remained rather quiet and subdued. Harry, on the other hand, waiting as his fate was being decided for him, was beginning to purple.  
  
"I'd much rather keep them together," Dumbledore began heavily. "Voldemort will expect me to split them up, hide them in separate places, so he will now search harder. He has discovered that neither boy was at Privet Drive, so it is as Lupin said: Voldemort will attack the Burrow. We most certainly can't put either of them there. Severus could take them, it's true-"  
  
Harry couldn't contain himself any longer. He burst out suddenly, "Okay, so I can't live with Sirius and Professor Lupin. How many people at the Ministry knew Mrs. Figg was my Secret Keeper?"  
  
Arthur looked rather taken aback, and said with a glance at Arabella, "She is? Er-was?"  
  
"That settles it then," Harry said firmly, eyes glinting dangerously, "I'm staying right here. Put the Fidelius over this house if you will. Voldemort's already hit this area once, what are the chances that he'll come back? And HE can stay too, can't he, Mrs. Figg?"  
  
With a worried glance at the determined Harry, she said to her fellow wizards, "I could take them, I really could, and Harry has a point. He and I could continue our little lessons peacefully as well of course....But we're forgetting one tiny little problem. What are you going to tell the Dursleys?"  
  
Arabella looked curiously at Dumbledore.  
  
Harry laughed hollowly. "Their house, all of their belongings, everything they owned was just destroyed because some Dark Lord was out looking for me. It was bad enough when I blew up Aunt Marge, or like last year with the Ton-Tongue Toffee. How excited do you think they'll be to take me back this time?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled sadly, "Harry has the right idea.....The Dursley family will be arriving shortly, and though we can convince them otherwise, they are apt to blame their misfortune on Harry."  
  
"And think," the boy said bitterly, "For once, their bad luck actually was my fault."  
  
He turned away from the others, feigning interest in the wall.  
  
Sirius reached out a hand and gently grasped him by the shoulder. "You're not to blame, Harry, not at all. If only we'd gotten here in time to get the bastard," he spat angrily, his grip tightening.  
  
"Watch your language in front of Harry, Padfoot!" Remus said reprovingly, though a smirk lingered around his mouth.  
  
Dumbledore, however, remained worried. "Are you sure you could take the two of them, Arabella? They'll have to be kept indoors at all times, you must understand." He leant forward and whispered quietly, as if trying to keep a certain red-headed wizard out of the conversation. "Two boys of their abilities, personalities, and notorious reputation for being ....disagreeable with each other.....it was well enough keeping them in a house with Muggles to separate them - are you sure you can handle both of them?"  
  
Mrs. Figg nodded soberly, resolutely. "The boys....have more in common than you may have grown to believe, Albus. I'm sure this will work out fine."  
  
A smile lit Dumbledore's blue eyes, and it was mirrored in Harry's emerald ones. "Very well. I'll owl Severus in order to have him bring our other little charge here as soon as possible."  
  
He clapped his hands in finality. "Now, come, Arthur, we need to discuss the subject of the Burrow and the Fidelius, so if you'll excuse us...."  
  
Mr. Weasley nodded in acceptance, though he looked slightly confused and was frowning slightly, obviously not pleased with Harry's new home. However, he strode over to Dumbledore, but stopped and walked back to Harry, holding out his hand.  
  
"Well then, Harry, I'm sure we'll be able to have you visit the Burrow before school begins! Ron and the twins will be looking forward to it. Oh, I'm so glad you're all right, boy, so any messages for Ron?"  
  
Harry shook Arthur's hand, smiling, and said, "I'll be looking forward to it. Tell Ron and Mione that I'll owl them as soon as Hedwig gets back. Say 'hi' to everyone for me, just tell them that I'm fine. I'll be seeing them all soon enough."  
  
With a last firm grip, Mr. Weasley released Harry, waved, and crossed to the door being held open by Dumbledore.  
  
"If you need me, Harry," Dumbledore said, "Just owl me - your Hedwig will find me. Oh, and Harry....Happy Birthday."  
  
Harry gaped. He....What? He-he hadn't even remembered!! The Dursley's always forgot, but Harry himself had done so as well this year.  
  
Trying to calculate the last four weeks in his mind, looking up at Sirius, Harry said, astounded, "I'm fifteen? Today? That...that's right! I totally forgot-"  
  
Sirius smiled down at him, then reached out a hand and tweaked Harry's nose gently. "Happy Birthday, kid."  
  
Mr. Weasley smiled warmly. "Molly's got a cake waiting - she'd hoped you'd be able to come to the Burrow tomorrow before the Dursley's get home....I'm sure I'll be able to persuade Percy to let me borrow Hermes, so that you'll get it. Happy Birthday, Harry Potter."  
  
And with that, Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley, two of the wizards Harry most trusted, turned through the door, and Harry could hear their footsteps retreating down the stairs.  
  
Mrs. Figg sighed quietly, and then said quietly, "It's quite late, all of you. Harry's been through a rough night - he needs rest. Now I'm sure," she glared at Sirius and Remus, "That although you want to celebrate all that we have to be thankful for, the three of you will see that it's much better to save our celebration until an appropriate time."  
  
She stared pointedly at Sirius, who rolled his eyes, but sat back on the bed and grabbed his godson into a huge hug.  
  
"Well, since Figg suggested it, Harry, look forward to a nice party before you return to Hogwarts," the Animagus said cheerfully. Mrs. Figg huffed.  
  
Remus bent down and ruffled Harry's messy black hair affectionately, with a small, "Happy Birthday, Harry."  
  
He paused, and turned sadly to face Sirius. "Has it really been fifteen years? I....I remember it like it was yesterday."  
  
There was an odd expression on Moony's face, something derived from painful nostalgia.  
  
Curious, Harry said, "What happened? What's wrong?"  
  
At this, Sirius suddenly burst out laughing. "Like we could forget that day.....should we really tell him-" he placed a hand on Harry's messy head "-what happened the day he was born?"  
  
He was practically cackling. Lupin started to laugh himself, and even Mrs. Figg held a hand to her mouth to stop the giggles.  
  
"Oh, I've heard this story before," she chuckled.  
  
"Has everyone in the wizarding world heard it?" Harry asked with trepidation, a sense of doom weighing on his heart.  
  
"Oh, no, thank Merlin," gasped out Sirius. "I can't believe we never told you...."  
  
He collapsed into fits of hysterical snickers, waving a hand at Remus, as if inviting him to begin.  
  
Taking his cue, Lupin tried vainly to stop his chortling, and so he half- choked out, "Well, the first thing you must know, Harry, is that you were pretty much over two weeks early - closer to three weeks, which is not uncommon for Pureblood wizard children, but then again, Lily was Muggle- born. It might explain why you're still so small - you were very, very slightly premature. That's right, you were supposed to be an August baby....."  
  
His voice took on a familiar dreamy quality that sounded odd in Remus' light neutral tenor voice, and he continued to lose himself in recollection.  
  
"So, on July 31st, 1980, we Marauders - all.....all four of us - and Lily were enjoying a hot, cloudless summer day in Godric's Hollow....you can just picture a nice little riverside picnic scene, flowing water, a blanket spread across soft grass, trees swaying in the gentle breeze...."  
  
Sirius snorted, inhaled incorrectly, and began to cough. Through his gasps, they caught the words, "That's.....bull....shit....Moony!!"  
  
"Ok, ok, forgive for trying to not make us sound like the complete idiots we were!!" Lupin laughed, before continuing.  
  
"All right. So, let's rewind that picnic scene. Now, erase the sun, the gentle breeze - instead, add in pouring rain and angry sky, a wet blanket with Lily and Peter huddled under umbrellas, and gale-force gusts, and that, Harry, would be what your birthday was like.  
  
"Now, don't look at me like that," Lupin said imploringly, noticing that Harry was looking at him oddly, matching Draco's common 'clairvoyant crystal ball' look, "It was James' idea, I swear!! He was undaunted in his determination to celebrate his last few weeks before he became a father, or, as he would always put it, before the arrival of the Mini-Marauder."  
  
Harry giggled himself now. "The Mini-Marauder? Is that really what he called me?"  
  
Sirius laughed harder. "You mean you really can't remember it? After all the times James had said that to Lily's bulging stomach, I'd expected you to be born screaming it!"  
  
"YOU'RE the one who came up with it, Sirius! Don't blame it all on Prongs!" Lupin protested.  
  
"Sure, I might have come up with it," said Sirius, "but he's the one who adopted and immortalized it! And hey, yelling at me for blaming Prongs? Weren't you the one who just said that our being out in the middle of a storm was James' fault?"  
  
Lupin pretended he hadn't heard Padfoot. Instead he reverted to the original topic.  
  
"So, thanks to James brilliance and his love for having a good time, we found ourselves having a picnic in the worst conditions. Lily had to use the oddest spells to keep herself and our precious Marauders' Munchies dry - like how she transfigured the umbrella poles into tree trunks growing out of the middle of the blanket so that neither the umbrellas nor the blanket was blown away....."  
  
Sirius cleared his throat importantly, signaling that he was composed enough to tell some of the story. Lupin smiled graciously, and nodded, letting Sirius take over.  
  
"So, Lily was guarding the food from moth, mouse, moose, and Marauder alike, while the rest of us.....played in the water."  
  
"Would that be the rain or the river?" Harry queried with a smirk on his face.  
  
"Both," Lupin and Sirius said together, with a smile at each other.  
  
"We were just having fun, you know, chicken fights and the like, but it was hard when your feathers were all wet....." Sirius said, shrugging as if it were the most boring thing in the world.  
  
Harry stared at Sirius, perplexed. "Feathers?"  
  
Lupin clapped a hand to his forehead, and Mrs. Figg laughed in the background. "That's right, he's never even been in a Muggle chicken fight, let alone a Marauders' Chicken Fight!!"  
  
Sirius smirked and explained. "In OUR chicken fights, the Marauder on top fighting got transfigured from the waist up into a chicken, and I mean the works - feathers, wings, beaks....it was the like the Indiscriminate Grappling Chicken Fight, anything goes."  
  
Lupin spoke again. "Normally, when we played in-er-warm, sunny weather, we'd perform a Drying Spell on whichever chicken fell off, and start all over again. But playing in the rain was a little more difficult," he admitted.  
  
"So anyways," said Sirius, "After a while, Peter-" he had trouble getting the name out "-retired from the game, which wasn't good because he was the only one strong enough to hold James well without overbalancing, and besides, without him, we were short one player, so we had to stop doing Chicken Fights."  
  
"No, actually, Peter's idea of heading over to Lily for food diverted James' attention onto Lily herself, who, although appreciative of our....antics....was not comfortable."  
  
Lupin paused for a moment, thinking, as if he were trying to imagine what Lily Potter must have felt like.  
  
"I mean, being pretty much nine months pregnant, stuck out in the middle of a storm while her husband and friends cavorted like five-year- olds.....I...I guess that can try your patience."  
  
"So James decided to show off," Sirius picked up, "And to cheer Lily up in the process, being a mushy, lovesick puppy-dog excuse for a husband." He sounded almost revolted at the idea.  
  
"So he-er-started making little special-effects iridescent rainbows arch across the river. He wanted to set off a full fireworks display, but it was, as I said, raining very hard and he didn't have any Filibuster's on him."  
  
"And the rainbows were more appropriate anyway," piped up Sirius.  
  
"And Sirius decided that while we were on the subject of rainbows, he should do something about James' hair." He glared at Sirius.  
  
Innocently, Sirius said, "What? All I did was curse it to change color every five seconds! I really don't know why he got so pissed!"  
  
"Well, let's just say, Padfoot, that he didn't look good with pink hair, especially when it clashed with his red embarrassed face whenever he saw Lily laughing at him."  
  
"So James started chasing me all over the field and river, trying to hex me. ME! His best friend!!" Sirius said tearfully.  
  
"Don't look to me for sympathy," Lupin barked.  
  
Sirius raised a hand to the side of his mouth and whispered conspiratorially to Harry, "He only says that because one of your father's curses hit Remy when I dodged behind him, and old Moony ended up with fairy wings sticking out of his back for the rest of the day."  
  
"Now," Lupin said over Sirius, "Peter and Lily were sitting watching us-"  
  
"Oh, it was great, Moony was chasing James for the wings, and James was chasing me for the hair...."  
  
"-when suddenly, Lily's water broke. She remained quite calm, telling Peter to get James while she started magicking all the food away."  
  
"Well, Peter started tagging after Remus - big mistake. Remus was throwing curses after James, so a distracted James fired a Rictusempra back. Remy ducked, and it hit Peter."  
  
"When Lily looked up from her finished packing, clutching her belly, and saw that her messenger was lying wheezing on the ground, she just-"  
  
"Exploded. Never saw her lose her temper like that," Sirius shuddered.  
  
"As soon as Sirius, James, and I came within range, she fired a Petrificus Totalus on Sirius. He dropped like a stone, and Prongs and I tripped over him."  
  
"So, we were all sprawled on the ground - okay, so I wasn't sprawled, but I couldn't move anyway....."  
  
"And when James and I looked up her, oh, I'd never seen her look so angry!!"  
  
"What did she say?" Harry asked hesitantly, speaking for the first time in minutes.  
  
"Well, she was calm at first, though very quiet - she was always dangerously quiet when she was very angry - even though she was starting to feel some pain, and she said quite normally-"  
  
Sirius mimicked a woman's imperious voice. "'James, my water broke - the baby's ready, so I think it's time we ended this playtime and it's time for you to get me to a hospital.'"  
  
"What happened next?" Harry asked eagerly.  
  
Sirius and Lupin exchanged a look, and were overcome with laughter so hard that Harry thought someone must have just cast a very strong Cheering Charm.  
  
Regaining composure, though his head was buried in his hands to wipe away the tears of mirth, Lupin said, "Well, James just looked up at her and said confusedly, 'Are you sure it's not just the rain?'"  
  
Harry couldn't help it. He joined in the roar of laughter that greeted this.  
  
"So," Lupin continued, "She pointed her wand at James' face and told him that this was all his fault and to get her to a hospital or he'd be hexed so badly that he'd never be able to sit on a broom again."  
  
"This Prongs took seriously, so he got off me, but before he'd gone two steps towards Lily, she dropped her wand and sat down hard on the ground, clutching her stomach."  
  
"So James panicked, and before we could stop him, he'd run to where we'd parked the car that Peter, Lily, James, and I had come in, and grabbed Sirius' flying motorbike. Once he'd gotten it back over to us, he heaved Lily onto it, and they were gone."  
  
"So, now, we were in a small fix. James had stolen my bike, but he also had the keys to the car on him, too, so once Lupin had performed the counter- curses for both me and Peter, we-"  
  
"Had to walk all the way back to the village as fast as we could in the rain, take a taxi to London to get to St. Mungo's....."  
  
"When we got to the hospital Merlin knows how much later, we found James pacing outside the Maternity Ward, his hair still changing color with nearly every step," chuckled Sirius. "He was still soaked, leaving little puddles all over the floor...."  
  
"Between his multicolored hair and my fairy wings, which we'd all forgotten about, the old witch matron behind the desk thought we looked a little odd, and she actually asked us if we all were interested in visiting the ACU soon."  
  
"ACU?" Harry said, puzzled. "Isn't it 'ICU'?"  
  
"Yes, if you're a Muggle," Lupin said. He explained, "This is the Accidental Charms Unit. You know, for accidents that occur during experimentation or duels, or for things like splinching. ACU."  
  
Harry nodded in understanding, but smiled nonetheless. "And?"  
  
"Well, that's about it, actually." Sirius smiled. "Except for when you were finally born just before 11:30pm, and James held you for the first time, he started bouncing you a little, and you wouldn't stop crying!! We're going to have to find your first picture with him - it was taken that night, and even in the picture, your father's hair keeps changing color, his face bright red because you were wailing without end...."  
  
Lupin was looking confused for some reason. "Woah, woah, what do you mean 'that's about it', Sirius? Aren't you forgetting-"  
  
Clearing his throat pointedly, but looking nervous, Sirius said, "Oh, he doesn't need to know about that....He probably doesn't remember at all...."  
  
Mrs. Figg looked sternly over at Sirius and said, "What Sirius isn't telling you is that at the party after your birth a few hours later into the night, he sort of....spiked your bottle."  
  
"It was only some butterbeer!!" Sirius said indignantly.  
  
"Butterbeer?" Lupin repeated faintly, staring at Sirius incredulously.  
  
"Ok, ok, it was Firewhiskey, I admit it. But James had just decided that I was Harry's godfather, so I was letting the kid join in the celebrations!!"  
  
"You don't give a newborn - especially a newborn wizard - alcohol, Black, it could have killed him!!" Arabella yelled.  
  
"What happened then?" Harry asked again.  
  
"Well, you stopped crying finally.....Lily was worried a little because you weren't sleeping, just this newborn little wizard, and red and wrinkly....and then when, you opened your mouth again, all these big green bubbles kept coming out. And I got caught..." Sirius ended sadly.  
  
"And that would be how we spent July 31st fifteen years ago..." Lupin said to Harry.  
  
There was a comfortable pause filled with some sniggering, before Mrs. Figg sighed and, looking at the clock on the beside table, said, "Dear me, look, it's after midnight!! Harry should be asleep now, he really should!!"  
  
Sirius heaved himself off the bed where he'd been sitting, and, stretching, he walked jauntily over to Remus. He yawned loudly, and turned to face Harry.  
  
Meanwhile, Arabella shooed Harry off the bed and towards Sirius while she pulled off the brown bedspread, turning down the blankets and fluffing up Harry's pillow.  
  
Turning to his father's best friends, Harry smiled up at them, and before he knew it, both Sirius and Remus had swooped down and gathered him into a group hug.  
  
There was hope....it hadn't been too bad of a night, too bad of a birthday.  
  
And Draco would be coming back tomorrow.  
  
**  
  
Sitting in the back of a Muggle car listening to Aunt Petunia sob, Dudley wail, and Uncle Vernon mutter darkly, sometimes pulling too sharply on the steering wheel and causing the car to lurch alarmingly, Draco was sincerely hoping that they would arrive back in Little Whinging soon.  
  
Oh, he was in a foul mood. Between the insane Muggles and the news of the blaze at Number Four, all his things gone....no, this had most certainly not been a pleasant weekend.  
  
Staring out the window with a frown on his face, but not really taking in the scenery, Draco could only go over the entire weekend in his head. And until last night, the weekend hadn't been very interesting at all....  
  
He'd arrived at Marjorie Dursley's home in the company of the Dursleys, and he consciously admitted to having been thankful to arrive - all those hours in a car with Dudley trying to get Draco to play Gameboy Advance with him, and Mr. and Mrs. Dursley sitting in the front of the car humming loudly to classical music that would have actually been tasteful had it not been punctuated by the Muggles' off-tune singing.  
  
The minute Draco had walked over the threshold into the Muggle-sized manor, before he'd even gotten a glimpse of the surroundings or even seen Marge, wherever she'd been lurking, he'd found himself tugged forcefully into a crushing hug, a wet kiss splattered over his cheek, and one huge, "Ah, here he is, my new neffy poo!"  
  
Harry had been telling the truth - she was a large, ill-mannered, lowly Muggle.  
  
And she had dogs. Lots of dogs. And Draco did not happen to be a fan of dogs.  
  
Now, while the entire Dursley family knew nothing of Draco's heritage, the dogs were quite sensitive to Draco's smell and aura. So once Marge had released him and moved on to maul Dudley with one of her hugs, the Slytherin had taken two steps further into the manor only to be set upon by a pack of growling bulldogs. With nasty cruel pointy teeth.  
  
And the rest of the visit hadn't been much different. The dogs tailed Draco everywhere - the lounge, the bedroom he'd been forced to share with Dudley, the dining room, even to the bathroom, at which point they'd squat in front of the door and growl menacingly so that it took Draco fifteen minutes to get past them and out of the loo.  
  
Harry wasn't mentioned once.  
  
And then....late at night, as Dudley was staring fixedly at the TV and Draco was sitting with his mouth half-open, eyes half-closed, being lulled to sleep by the ominous growling coming from somewhere around his feet where the bulldogs were gathered, waiting to be set free from this nightmare, the phone call came.  
  
He hadn't been able to sleep a wink that night - Dudley was howling with misery at the destruction of his perfect entertainment center, all the games and controls and computer chips gone....And Aunt Petunia's unrestrained sobs from the room next door were no better.  
  
Coming back to the present, Draco began to ponder. It had to have been Voldemort, it just had to have been. But as far as Draco knew, Harry's name had not cropped up in the phone call, so....was he safe? Was he dead? Captured?  
  
And of course, the looming worry of where he was to go now was growing larger and more fearsome every moment. Would Severus take him? Or would they simply leave him with the Dursleys, living with Aunt Marge (who had agreed to take them in until Number Four was rebuilt) for the rest of the vacation?  
  
So lost in thought, Draco didn't even notice when the car pulled onto Privet Drive and stopped just before the tape barricade that stood between the Dursleys and their ruined home. It looked even worse than it had sounded - one blackened wall remained; the other three were no more than charred cinders and splinters of wood littering the ground.  
  
Slowly, the Dursleys got out of the car, taken in the wreckage, and Draco followed suit. His Nimbus was gone, his books, his cauldron, his chess set, his cloaks and robes, his trunk, the little money that he'd had on him.....He thanked Merlin silently for thinking to bring his wand with him to Aunt Marge's home, having sneaked it into the bag after Harry had finished packing Draco's clothes.  
  
Suddenly, the neighbors came running out of Number Three, gathering around the sobbing Dursleys with pitying comments and reassuring words of comfort. But then.....  
  
Number Five's door opened as well, and out swept a middle-aged woman, followed by-  
  
Draco's heart leapt at the sight of Severus hurrying out behind the lady, his large black Muggle jacket billowing slightly around his thin frame.  
  
~~  
  
Okay, tomorrow is the last day of exams, and then I'm free. I'll never ever ever ever have to take another exam in Japan! No more studying Hermione- style.... And lots of time to write chapter thirteen!!  
  
There's a direct Monty Python/ Holy Grail quote. Miss that movie - it's one of the first things I'm sticking in the VCR when I get home.  
  
Reviews are appreciated, flames are Ok as long as they aren't flames about slashiness. I've said it a million times, if you flame me for writing slash, I will simply ask you, "Why did you read it if you don't like it? The. Summary. Says. Slash!" If you want to make a stand about the incorrectness of slash, take it up with someone who doesn't know that it really happens in reality. I'll make an exception if you didn't know what slash was....  
  
Next time....ooo, Draco learning to live in a Mudblood's house. Without servants. 


End file.
